


Get Your Kicks

by ScarlettSiren



Series: Martial Hearts [1]
Category: ATEEZ (Band), K-pop
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not K-Pop Idols, Anal Sex, Attempted Assault, Based on a News Article, Blow Jobs, M/M, Martial Arts, Meet-Cute, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Injuries, Semi-Public Sex, Strangers to Lovers, With A Twist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2020-09-29 12:16:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20435879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarlettSiren/pseuds/ScarlettSiren
Summary: San runs the Taekwondo studio his father left to him after a career-ending injury forced him to retire years before. He enjoys it… he’s always been dedicated to martial arts, ever since he was young. He’s also great with even the most troublesome kids, which makes him popular with the parents for sure.It’s a fulfilling, but pretty uneventful life… that is, until a gorgeous stranger bursts into his studio one night begging for his help.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is literally based on a news story I read about where a lady ran into a martial arts studio to get away from a would-be kidnapper and the owner of the place beat the snot out of the guy when he chased her inside. What a boss. I figured San would make a great lead here because of his history of Taekwondo and also his cute-but-dangerous appearance.
> 
> This was meant to be a one-shot (story of my life) but it will end up as either 2 or maximum 3 chapters. Sorry I keep clowning myself.
> 
> There is a social media AU from Wooyoung’s POV which you can find [HERE](https://twitter.com/NecroticNymph/status/1167100451281625089).

San lets out a habitual _ kihap _ with a measured breath as he kicks, the sound echoing shrilly through the empty dojang. He has the studio to himself, as it’s after classes… the time he usually takes to practice alone. His leg is held high and his torso is pitched low toward the ground, but he doesn’t struggle for balance. It’s not tactical in any sense, but he’s practicing for team demos, so he’s going for ‘showy’. He swings his leg back down, switches which one is bearing weight, and pivots, turning with a swift spinning hook kick. Once both his feet are back on the ground, he frowns, wondering if maybe a jumping kick might look a little flashier.

He tries it again, with the jumping kick. It’s a little more choppy, because he has to switch his footing on the fly, but it _ does _look fancier. He takes a mental note to change the routine.

Choreographing the demo-team showcases is something he always ends up having to do for the summer. Once his students are out of class, their parents will happily drop them off into his care, and well—he may as well give them something different to focus on and a new goal to achieve. Summer brings festivals, and the studio is often invited to perform. There’s one coming up in just another couple of weeks, and while the kids are finally getting their own routines down, he hasn’t had time to flesh out his own yet. The festivals are good advertising, so it’s worth the time to show off just what he’s capable of.

He could probably do with a dozen more students before it becomes a problem, with the space they have and the number of classes they offer. He has a few who will age out soon anyway, who will be far too busy with high school to bother with a non-academic extracurricular. The few high schoolers he _ does _ still teach will likely leave to attend colleges far and wide. But most of his students are young.

Kids don’t exactly challenge him as a martial artist… rather, they challenge him as a person. He’s never really thought about having any of his own because he gets to be around so many that it’s _ like _ raising them himself, if only for an hour or two at a time. He helps them with their homework and talks them through minor struggles at home and works with them on how to deal with bullies.

He might be teaching them martial arts, but he isn’t teaching them to kick the snot out of other kids, no matter how awful the other kids are being toward them.

San halts when he hears the bell on the front door chime mechanically. He’d flipped the sign to show they were closed but he thinks he may not have locked up again after he let one of his more forgetful students back in to grab their duffel bag. It’s odd that anyone would even try to come in… after all, who really comes into a martial arts studio at nearly nine in the evening? All his students know the last class starts at seven.

“Sorry, we’re closed.” San is still in a deeply-rooted front stance, so he stands up straight to regard the person at the door.

He’s now well into the entry, nearly tripping over one of the rows of chairs that’s set out for parents to watch classes through the glass separating it from the main studio. He makes a soft noise of distress as he catches himself.

The first thing San notices is how pretty he is. Hair bleached and dyed lavender, parted just off-center, front fringe swooping up dramatically like he takes the time to style it. He’s dressed in a black; a soft zippered hoodie on top, but his pants are pleather and fitted to an extreme degree. They’re split open at the knees, one of which is bloody. By the way his panic-stricken face is done up, San would hazard a guess that he was on his way to the clubs or something.

He _ is _ panic-stricken, though, which is the next thing San notices. He’s breathing heavily, as though he’s just run a marathon. His eyes meet San’s, and relief washes over his features.

“Please, you gotta help me! This guy just tried to grab me and throw me in his car and he’s right behind me and my phone is dead but I saw your light was on and—”

“Hey, okay, easy, slow down.” San quells, padding over quickly, off of the mat and onto the hardwood floor that leads into the main entry. “You said someone tried to… what, kidnap you?”

“Yeah I mean he, he grabbed me and was pulling me into his car and I managed to slip free and slammed his door on him but he… I think he was chasing me.”

“Okay… okay, go through that door there. My phone’s on my desk in that office. Just stay in there and call the police.” San tells him, alert but level, pointing toward his office. The pretty stranger nods erratically and nearly trips to get into the room, closing the door behind him.

There are windows on the door of the office and on the wall that faces the studio floor, so he can still be seen, but at least there is a buffer there. San sees him grab the phone and frantically unlock it (he doesn’t use a password—he’s not one for secrets) to get to the dial screen. He jolts when the front door opens and chimes, ducking down below the jamb of the window.

San’s attention turns to the front door once more. Another guy he doesn’t know bursts in, looking flustered and angered as his gaze darts around the room. They settle on San, and he sneers. He’s taller than San… easily a hundred and ninety centimeters, and broad-chested. He doesn’t look like he works out or trains heavily, but he’s a big guy.

“Sir, we’re closed.” San says, his tone even. “You need to leave.”

“Where is he?” The guy demands, breathing heavily. “I know he came in here!”

“Sir, I said you need to leave.” San’s voice can not possibly be mistaken as anything but impatient now, a hard edge to it.

“Look, it’s my boyfriend, okay. He’s just upset—”

“Boyfriend?!” Shrieks the pretty stranger from behind the office door, popping up to look through the window. “I’ve never seen this crazy asshole before in my life!”

It’s like something in the big guy snaps. His face contorts in rage and he shouts unintelligible nonsense as he starts swinging, trying to barrel past San to get to the office door.

San hasn’t been in many real-life confrontations, but his muscle memory from self-defense practice drills kicks in. He sidesteps and uses the back of his hand to divert the guy’s momentum, forcing him off-balance. He stumbles through the archway that’s caddy-corner to the office door, out onto the main floor of the studio. The sound of his shoes clodding on the mat echoes in the empty space.

The guy snarls, rounding on him. San hears the pretty stranger yelp a warning as he plasters himself to the other office window, now; the one facing the studio floor. San steps back, just a hair, just enough to avoid a sloppy swing. His attacker teeters precariously, tipping forward.

San strikes in swift succession: side, solar plexus, throat. The guy chokes and before he can even blink, San grabs his arm, sweeps his legs out from under him and lays him out, his back hitting the mat with a loud thump. He twists the arm he still has in his grip, bending the wrist painfully until the guy screams in agony and stops struggling.

“You’re leaving.” San growls, forcibly dragging the guy behind him until he can get him out the door, rolling him out onto the sidewalk like a particularly heavy bag of garbage.

Once he’s let go, though, the guy scrambles back up to his feet, ready to go again. San shakes his head, shutting the door behind him just as the pretty stranger emerges from his office. He presses his worry-stricken face to the glass, San’s own cell phone against one ear. What he’s saying his muffled, but San assumes he’s talking to the police.

The angry asshole lunges for him. He’s honestly a complete amateur, whether because of his rage or the adrenaline. San slides back and side-kicks him hard, right in the ribs. His attacker lurches in pain but regains his footing enough to close the distance between them. San pivots, grabs him and throws him over his hip, diverting his momentum to slam him into the ground, hard. Bending into a crouch, it only takes one swift, forceful punch to the face and the guy goes out like a light.

San stands up straight, rolling his shoulders. When he looks back at the pretty stranger, he’s gaping like a fish, the phone nearly slipping from his ear. When he opens the door, steps back inside and looks at him expectantly, he sputters into the receiver.

“U-um, actually the, uh. The Taekwondo instructor just… sort of… knocked him out. Yeah, if you could just… send someone?”

“Have them bring paramedics; I’m certain I broke his ribs.” San tells him.

The stranger relays the need for paramedics, then ends the call, handing back the phone. “Thank you. That… that was…”

“You weren’t kidding when you said it was some crazy asshole after you.” San replies wryly, motioning to his knee. “And what about you? Need a paramedic?”

“Oh… I tripped running up onto the curb.” He explains bashfully. “Just a bandaid, maybe.”

San nods. “Follow me.”

They settle into the too-low chairs in the rec room in the back of the studio, San breaking out the little first aid kit he keeps around for the kids. There are gaming systems set up and a long plastic table where they often work on homework or eat snacks after school, before their classes. 

“I’m Wooyoung, by the way.” The guy tells him when San sits in front of him, setting out the first aid kit.

“I’m San. Like a mountain.”

“I sense there’s a story behind that, if you’re mentioning it.” Wooyoung says, curious and a little expectant.

San nods. “My father named me so that I would be like a comforting hill to my friends and loved ones, but an imposing mountain to my enemies, impossible to climb. At least that’s what he told me growing up. All the time.”

Wooyoung laughs, pitched far lower than his speaking voice. “Well, you certainly live up to the legacy your father intended.”

“That’s all we can hope for, hm?” San responds, holding up a couple of boxes. He keeps a variety of superhero and princess bandaids, and Wooyoung picks out one with Black Panther on it.

Wooyoung watches as San places the bandaid perfectly, peeling away the protective paper from both sides simultaneously. “You’re practiced at that.”

“This isn’t anything new to me. I deal with skinned knees and bruised egos all day. I’m practically an expert by now.” San assures, gingerly pressing the ends of the bandaid to his skin to make sure it sticks. His hands linger at Wooyoung’s thigh, fingertips brushing gently, quelling. “You’re a little taller than my usual patients, I think. Just as cute, though.”

Wooyoung giggles, covering his mouth with one hand. San can see the smile in his eyes, though; the way they become little crescents under his lavender fringe. It’s higher in pitch than the last laugh, and he finds himself wondering just what a variety of sounds he could pull from him.

With jokes, San insists to himself as he catches his mind wandering. Where had _ that _come from?

“Well thank you again for patching me up. At least I won’t have to bother the police and paramedics with something so small.”

“Speaking of.” San murmurs, looking toward the front windows of the studio through the open rec room door as those all-too familiar flashing lights roll in. Wooyoung has a look of dread on his face, and San squeezes his thigh before giving it a reassuring pat. “Deep breath. It’ll be fine.”

And it _ is _ fine, all things considered.

They both answer questions while the paramedics load the would-be kidnapper asshole onto a stretcher. He comes to and tries to take a few swings, so they have to subdue him and strap him down before they can get him into the ambulance. His persistence would be admirable if he wasn’t using his energy for something nefarious.

San and Wooyoung give their statements. San even offers them security footage. They keep cameras on the floor in the case that someone hurts themselves or claims someone else hurt them… so there’s some nice footage of San laying the prick out. The cop looks really impressed… he’s young, probably a rookie, and when a journalist strolls into his studio a day later, he guesses it was him that leaked the tape to the media.

Whatever. San takes it in stride. He should probably know better when he tells the woman—who is looking at him with this sort of bright-eyed fascination—that he just “dealt with the guy accordingly”. When the story goes live he’s instantly lauded as a local hero, and the next day, there’s a line forming of people wanting to sign their kids up for classes. Well, he certainly can’t complain if a small act of kindness and fifteen minutes of fame ensures the lease is paid. He also gets a lot of phone numbers and lewd offers, new followers on the studio’s Instagram, a ton of messages… for a solid week it’s an absolute mess on social media.

His father, though, is delighted. He calls him and sends him the news articles and his old man just laughs about it and claims he raised and trained him well.

***

San breathes a sigh of relief on Friday night when his last student leaves with an enthusiastic wave. It’s been a whirlwind of a week, and he feels like he hasn’t had a single second to himself when he wasn’t unconscious in bed. 

He runs through forms just to remember what it feels like. It’s almost mindless, because his body has gone through the motions so many times that it’s automatic, and yet he can somehow throw his entire focus into it. He’s drenched in sweat by the time he’s gotten to the last one, his stance nearly faltering when the all-too-familiar chime rings through the studio. He really needs to get better about locking the door after close when he chooses to stick around… 

“Sorry, we’re closed—oh.” San cuts himself off when he sees Wooyoung standing there nervously, giving him a somewhat sheepish wave with one hand. He has a pizza box in the other, and a messenger bag slung over one shoulder. He’s dressed well—if not quite as glamorously as the first time they met—wearing tight black jeans and a loose navy button-up. “Well hey there, stranger.”

Wooyoung laughs softly, running his free hand through his hair. “Hey. I, uh. I brought you some dinner… I hope that’s not weird? I just realized I never really properly thanked you.”

“Oh… it’s not weird at all. But you didn’t… really need to thank me.” San tells him with a chuckle and a wink. “I’ll still take the food, though.”

They sit at the long, child-height table in the rec room, and share what might be the greasiest pizza San has ever eaten. It’s glorious, especially after a long day of teaching classes, which is essentially one extended workout with babysitting thrown in.

“So you run the studio yourself?” Wooyoung asks in between bites, looking around like he’s impressed. “You look like you’re my age.”

“Yeah, well, I inherited it from my dad.” San answers. “He learned from the great masters, then opened his own studio before I was born. I was basically raised on the mat. But he was injured and can’t practice anymore. It really broke him. But he lives out in this fancy retirement community in Incheon now and tells me he’s living the life.”

“Wow, what was he like a… tenth-degree blackbelt or something?” Wooyoung questions, voice full of wonder.

San barks a laugh. “Dad? Oh, no, he only reached seventh dan.”

Wooyoung smirks. “And what about you?”

“I’ve been sitting at fourth dan for years. I can only get out to conferences a couple times a year, so it’s hard to keep up with my own studies. None of my students are even close to third dan, though, so it’s not like I need to worry about ranking up to keep teaching them.” San explains.

“Sounds like this place keeps you pretty busy.” Wooyoung says thoughtfully.

“Yeah, but it’s a consistent schedule, which is nice. It’s just the paperwork that kills.” San grumbles. “We used to have a lady that kept track of all the books but she retired and left Seoul to go live out in the countryside last year, so I’ve just been doing it myself. Honestly, it's been kind of overwhelming since the boom in business this past week, so I might hire someone… but I just haven’t had the time to do interviews and then _ train _someone, you know?”

Wooyoung nods in interest. “Still, that’s so cool. I just work at a boring old coffee shop.”

“Of course you do.” San replies, teasing. “You’d be such a cute barista, I should have guessed.”

Wooyoung’s face flushes bright pink and he shoves what’s left of his crust into his mouth, probably so he doesn’t have to try to respond.

San just laughs, shaking his head and finishing off his own slice. An easy silence falls between them for a moment, and he mercifully allows Wooyoung to finish chewing before he asks him anything else. Once he’s washed down the last of it with his bottled water, San speaks up again.

“So, a barista by day… what do you get up to for fun? Other than sharing pizzas with lonely martial arts instructors?” He asks with a sly grin.

“This is… really embarrassing actually, um.” Wooyoung covers a strained, piteous laugh behind his hands as he drags his palms down his face. “I, uh. I dance. I’m on a dance team, we do like, busking and relay events in Hongdae in the evenings and stuff and… I guess the cops found out the guy found me through that? And he was stalking me through all my SNS accounts and… I don’t know, I’ve just been… terrified to go back out there. I haven’t gotten up the courage to go all week and I feel bad for ditching my team. It’s basically my whole life. My dream.”

San frowns sympathetically. “Oh. Well, I mean… that’s understandable, to be afraid. He was stalking you?”

“Yeah, I guess. I’m kind of… um. We do a lot of boy-love fanservice, you know? Skinship? So maybe he… got the wrong idea.” Wooyoung peters off there, almost sounding guilty.

“That you… _ actually _like men?” San presses, a bit selfishly.

“That I liked _ him._ I do actually like men.” Wooyoung murmurs, glancing up like he’s afraid of how San will react to the admission.

“Same. I mean… me too.” San smiles at him, just _ bright _ more so than it is purposely reassuring. It feels fair to share that when Wooyoung has already done the same. “I hear it’s more open and accepting in Hongdae? Is that right? I’ve never been.”

“I mean, it’s better than a lot of places. You don’t get death-glares mostly. Unfortunately there’s a lot of fetishizing by the fangirls, though, so it’s a trade-off.” Wooyoung replies, grinning. “You should come out some time. It’s fun.”

“I thought you said you hadn’t been back all week?” San raises an eyebrow.

Wooyoung ducks his head, embarrassed again. “Yeah, but… I bet I’d feel a lot safer with you there.”

“I could go, but I can’t be your bodyguard all the time. There would be an army of nine-year-olds coming after you for stealing their Sabeom.” San teases, smiling at him for a long moment… just looking at him. And then he taps the table. “Ah! I know what might help. Why don’t you come to one of my self-defense classes? I do them for women and LGBT people mostly, so it’s a very low-pressure crowd.”

“I, uh. I don’t know.” Wooyoung murmurs, picking at the hem of his shirt. “I think I’d be too embarrassed.”

“Oh. Well, what if I just teach you?” San suggests instead, earnest. “You should really know these techniques anyway, just in case.”

Wooyoung presses his lips together. “I… guess you’re right. I’m just not really good at… uh… hitting people, I guess?”

“We’ll make you good at it.” San tells him in a sure tone, pulling him out onto the studio floor.

San runs through the basics with him. Rooted stance, the best places to strike a person for maximum pain or damage, being vigilant and aware of your surroundings. Wooyoung watches him with an earnest sort of fascination that San can’t help but find incredibly cute, his pouty lips making the sweetest little o-shape as he nods along. Once they go through all of that, he figures it’s fine to move onto some easy drills.

“Okay. We’ll start simple. So if someone grabs your arm, like this—” San wraps his fingers around Wooyoung’s wrist, holding fast—“You want to pull toward the thumb, which is where the grip is weakest. Use your other hand if you need to. Try to get away.”

Wooyoung yanks hard but San holds fast. He makes a defeated little sound after trying again, looking at him somewhat pathetically.

“Turn with your whole body, use the momentum from it. And here, use your other hand.” San takes Wooyoung’s free hand and presses it over his other one, tugging. “Pull.”

Wooyoung does, turning his body like San said to. His arm comes free, and he looks startled for a moment before making a victorious noise. “Ah! I did it!”

“Good! Once you get free, you want to use your elbow to get a good hit in. Aim for the throat or the face. Then run like hell.” San tells him.

“Mm… and how much training would it take before I could just beat the shit out of him, like you did?” Wooyoung asks, smirking.

San laughs, shaking his head. “Give it a few years at least. You’ve barely managed this much.”

Wooyoung shoves him, pretending to be offended, but he’s laughing seconds later—the low-pitched one the reverberates in his chest. “You might be the expert on kicking and punching, but I bet I could dance circles around you.”

“Bet you could.” San freely admits. “You should show me sometime.”

Wooyoung glances at the clock at the back of the studio. “My… um. My troupe usually starts around nine. If we catch the train we could get there in time for the second or third song.”

San cocks his head. “You sure?”

“I told you, I’d feel pretty safe with you there.” Wooyoung says, biting his lip and glancing at his feet. “But, if you don’t wanna go…”

“I’ll come.” San pipes up, beaming. The idea of helping Wooyoung get back into the swing of his normal life just feels nice. “Give me ten minutes?”

“Sure, yeah… I need to put my face on, anyway.” Wooyoung responds, his eyes scrunching up when he smiles.

“I don’t know, I like the one you’ve got on now.” San says in a too-serious tone, and it earns him a laugh—the higher-pitched one that sounds like a giggle.

“Just go, Casanova.” Wooyoung chides, shaking his head.

San does, disappearing into the back locker room where the showers are. He cleans up blazingly-fast, washing away the sweat and grime of all the day’s classes. He doesn’t exactly have anything showy to change into, so he just throws on what he’s got; dark blue jeans and a sleeveless black shirt. He’s in his dobok for ninety percent of his existence outside of his house, so he hasn’t ever really put too much thought into his clothing choices. He owns more pairs of sweats than jeans.

The tips of his hair are still a little damp when he finally emerges into the main part of the studio. He finds Wooyoung sitting cross-legged on the mat at the massive mirror at the front of the room with his makeup bag open and spread over his lap. When he catches sight of him in the mirror, he scoops it all up and shoves it back into his messenger bag, standing.

“Good timing, I was pretty much done.” He smiles, but his eyes track down over San’s arms for a split second. San knows he’s cut; his entirely livelihood is martial arts… and he’s always thought his arms and shoulders were his best features. Judging by Wooyoung’s expression, he’s likely in agreement.

Wooyoung, though… his face is done up now, closer to how it was when they first met. He’s smoked out his eyes with liner and a deep brown shadow, his cheeks shimmering with highlighter and his lips glossy. He looks sultry even when wearing the most innocent of expressions.

“Mm, I’m not sure which face I like best, now.” San teases, smirking.

Wooyoung pouts at him, scrunching up his nose. “You know, you’d look really good with some dark liner, yourself.”

“Hmm, maybe next time.” San quips back with a wink. “We should probably head out, though… right?”

“Right! Sorry.” Wooyoung all but skips off the mat, and they both pull their shoes back on before heading out, San locking up behind them.

They spend the train ride chatting… rather, San spends it listening to Wooyoung talk, explaining a bit about the members of his dance troupe. It’s him and five other guys, two of which are apparently “gigantically tall” and “obnoxiously in love”. Two of the others are slightly _ less _ tall and also obnoxiously in love but not quite ready to admit their feelings for each other even though anyone with eyes could see it—per Wooyoung.

Their youngest is apparently god’s gift to ballad covers but he gets shy when it comes to the sexy dancing… mostly because his hyungs have been babying and stifling him for years, so claims Wooyoung. San feels like he’s hearing some pretty good gossip but that he just doesn’t have enough knowledge of the parties involved to really get invested. Wooyoung also briefly mentions his roommate, who used to dance with them but is currently studying to become a teacher, so he doesn’t make it out to too many of their events. He tries to whenever he can, though he only watches nowadays.

“They’re kind of a mess, but I promise they’re nice. They already know about you, I mean I mentioned you to them. After the whole… would-be kidnapper fiasco. I may have sent the news article to the group chat.” Wooyoung concludes once he’s said his peace.

“I just hope I’m not too awkward. I don’t really have any friends my own age. I just kind of… work, and sleep. I think the last time I had an extended conversation with someone born before 2005 who wasn’t my dad was at a martial arts conference. So.” San makes a face, dubious.

Wooyoung just brushes off the concern. “What? No! You’re fine. I would’ve never guessed you aren’t a complete social butterfly.”

“I’m good at faking it.” San says, smirking. “I work in what amounts to retail in the martial arts world… so I have a lot of practice.”

“I bet you do.” Wooyoung replies with a grin. The train stops and the doors open, announcing their arrival in Hongdae. “Oh, this is us.”

Hongdae is bustling.

Wooyoung moves through the ebb and flow of the crowd with a natural sort of grace, holding San’s hand as he weaves so they don’t get separated. He glances back every so often and smiles in this way that’s almost reassuring, and San tries not to think about the way it settles warmly in his chest.

They eventually make their way to a long stretch of sidewalk where it seems like pockets of people have gathered every so many meters. There are little areas in front of the shops cordoned off with plastic chairs where the crowds are thickest, and in the center of those small arenas, there are groups of people dancing. Kpop and global Top 40 hits play over Bluetooth speakers, and from a distance it just sounds like noise. As they get closer to one of the little squares, NCT U’s _ Boss _fades into focus. San watches two men who are all at once unfairly tall, built and gorgeous absolutely eat the choreography. When the one with the softer features bends forward and throws it back on his dance partner, twerking with a great deal of enthusiasm, the crowd goes nuts. Everyone has their phones out, recording or snapping photos, whooping for the fan-service. It’s almost like a mini concert.

“Wooyoung-ah! You made it!” The man who approaches them is—well, he’s _ gorgeous, _frankly—with hair bleached pale blond and styled up like he knows exactly how to best frame his face. His brows are strong and expressive, arching up curiously as he looks over at San. “We weren’t sure if the message in the group chat was a for-sure thing.”

“Yeah! I wouldn’t have given you false hope, Seonghwa-hyung.” Wooyoung insists.

“Wooyoung-ah!” Another man—shorter, San notices—comes out of nowhere and latches to the blond’s side. His smile is blinding, his hair a bright box red. “We’re so glad you could come out!”

“We didn’t want to pressure you.” Seonghwa adds in a much more subdued tone. “We know it’s been hard this week. We’ve been worried sick.”

“I’m better, thanks, Seonghwa-hyung.” Wooyoung smiles easily. “Um. Hyungs, this is San. He’s the martial arts instructor I told you about.”

“Oh, your savior, hm?” Seonghwa says it in a way that suggests he’s charmed, looking him over in interest and offering a hand. “It’s an honor. You have our eternal gratitude for helping our Wooyoungie.”

“It was nothing. Right place, right time.” San insists, shaking his hand. It’s firm but not _ overly _ so, like Seonghwa is testing him but not being a dick about it.

“Not for the stalker, clearly.” Seonghwa quips in amusement as he lets go.

The shorter one with the bright red hair edges in, then, offering his own hand. “Hongjoong. Nice to meet you, San. I’ll admit, I was expecting someone a little… bigger?”

San chuckles, shaking his hand, too. “Bruce Lee was about your height and that never stopped him from kicking ass.”

“Touché.” Hongjoong defers with an impressed look. “If you’re even half as badass as him, our Wooyoung is in _ very _good hands.”

_ “Hyung!” _Wooyoung yelps, scandalized.

“Oh, he is, that I can assure you.” San snarks back with a sly grin and a wink, and Wooyoung gapes a little.

Before either of them can say any more to that, the song ends and switches to another track.

“Well, that’s our cue!” Hongjoong pipes up, dragging Seonghwa back toward the gaggle of people. “Nice meeting you, San! Hope you enjoy the show!”

San waves after them with a genuine smile.

The two taller guys who’d been dancing when they arrived walk over, then, immediately accosting Wooyoung. They pull him into a hug, squished between the two of them, and Wooyoung introduces them as Mingi and Yunho while fighting off their cooing and cheek-pinching. He doesn’t even notice when someone else comes up behind them, scooping him out of their arms by edging in under his legs, lifting him up until he’s straddling the newcomer’s neck like a kid trying to watch a parade on their parent’s shoulders.

Wooyoung lets out a wail of surprise, then immediately starts laughing. “Jongho! Our strong baby! Stop showing off!”

He leans down and loudly pretends to gnaw on the boy’s caramel-blond head.

“He doesn’t know how to communicate otherwise.” Mingi says. “He probably feels like he has to assert dominance in the presence of another potential tough-guy.”

“Mm. Defending his territory.” Yunho adds sagely, nodding his head.

“Stop it! Jongie isn’t posturing, he’s always horsing around with his hyungs!” Wooyoung argues, but Jongho is a little red in the face when he kneels to let him down.

They all share handshakes with San, and Jongho’s grip is… well. It’s definitely something. He, unlike Seonghwa, doesn’t seem like he’s holding back at all. The look on his face is almost challenging, a smile that’s sort of dead in the eyes as he grips San’s hand like he’s got something to prove. Or maybe that he expects _ San _to prove something.

Wooyoung bites him on the shoulder _ hard _and he lets out an inhuman sound, releasing San to grab for Wooyoung and try to noogie him to death or something. Wooyoung just giggles like a madman and dodges him, hiding behind San. “Be nice, Jongie!”

“I’m nice!” Jongho protests huffily.

“It’s wonderful to meet _ all _ of you. Really.” San says, and he means it.

They all head back over toward their little busking area where Hongjoong has taken up the microphone, making announcements and hyping the crowd in between sets. Someone yells about “sexy baby shark” and Seonghwa looks like he wants the ground to open up and swallow him, but before San knows it, he’s watching a grown man move to a children’s song in a way that probably shouldn’t be legal. The crowd goes ballistic and he can’t really blame them.

Once he’s finished, Hongjoong encourages the crowd to applaud for him even as he tries to slink off in shame.

“Well then! Since our precious Wooyoung has once again graced us with his presence, let’s get him back out on the floor, yeah?” Hongjoong says, and the crowd seems to emphatically agree.

Yunho and Mingi shove Wooyoung into the center and he goes all faux-bashful, waving off the praises coming from the audience. Hongjoong confers with him for a moment before stepping out of the middle.

“Wooyoung will be doing his favorite sexy performance medley to make up for the week he missed, so please cheer extra loud for him.”

The audience, as requested, shrieks in excitement. When the first note plays, they scream again with even more enthusiasm.

San recognizes the opening to BTS’s _ Blood, Sweat & Tears. _ He isn’t incredibly well-versed in all the newest modern pop but he’s not living under a rock; he’s definitely a fan of the group. Wooyoung copies the choreography to a tee as Jimin croons over the speakers, even dropping his shoulder so that his low-cut shirt falls over it obscenely, exposing his clavicle. As the first instrumental ends, instead of the first rap playing, it smoothly transitions to BTS’s _ I Need U. _

It fades in right on the chorus, but Wooyoung dances as though it’s a single song. He makes the choreography his own, movements less choppy and powerful than they are fluid and sensual. Once more, before the rap starts, the song fades into another. This time, it’s Jimin’s solo song, _ Lie, _and he almost seems to move the most freely to this song… more so than all the others. The line of his entire body ebbs and flows with the melody so naturally, his hand sliding up under his shirt to show off a tease of his abs. The girls nearest him squeal in delight. As the music fades out, he crouches, but he runs his eyes over the crowd and grins like he’s living for the attention.

The music swells again. This time it’s the bridge of BTS’s _ Fake Love, _and Wooyoung moves effortlessly once more. San is getting the distinct impression that Wooyoung is either a fan of Jimin or his fans draw enough comparisons between the two of them that he always dances his parts.

Whoever spliced the songs together is a genius, because they manage to make it sound as though all the songs belong together despite being so different from each other. There are no awkward skips or pauses or record-scratches and Wooyoung slithers along to the beat, his dance both sleek and powerful all at once. He’s _ sexy _ and he _ knows it. _

The next song is _ Serendipity, _ keeping with the theme, and yeah, Wooyoung is definitely a Jimin fan. He dances along as though the song is _ his _ and as he mouths the words, _ “when you touch me,” _ he looks _ right _ at San. For his version, he’s modified the choreography from the second chorus of the original and somehow made it _ more _ sensual. When he grinds against the floor as though he’s making love to it, the audience goes wild again, and San’s throat goes a little dry.

Wooyoung ends the song on his knees, his wrists twisting up into the air elegantly as he mouths, _ “just let me love you,” _with such an earnest look on his face. San swallows when their eyes meet again, and he’s not sure if he’s managed to remove his jaw from the floor in time enough to not look like a complete idiot.

As the music fades out, Hongjoong moves back into the center and encourages everyone to cheer for Wooyoung. He stands and bows in this humble, flattered sort of way that’s incredibly endearing. He’s breathing hard and sweating but that highlighter he’d brushed across his cheeks makes him look ethereal. He glistens under the streetlights and San is momentarily dazed.

His focus fades back in just in time for him to hear Hongjoong teasing the crowd, hyping them up for something. Seonghwa enters the fray with a microphone of his own.

“It’s that time of the night, my beautiful people… where Wooyoung will choose a volunteer from the crowd.” Hongjoong announces in an over-dramatic tone.

“Ooh, just who will it be?” Seonghwa asks dramatically into his microphone. Behind them, Wooyoung is making a show of looking thoughtful, performing aegyo as they have their conversation on the mic.

“Mm, well, it’s gotta be somebody cute.” Hongjoong says.

“Somebody cute!” Seonghwa agrees. Wooyoung nods emphatically.

“It’s gotta be somebody sweet.” Hongjoong adds.

“Oh, definitely sweet.” Seonghwa agrees theatrically. Wooyoung bobs his head with a dreamy expression.

“As his hyungs, we should help him pick tonight, don’t you think?” Hongjoong suggests.

“Absolutely.” Seonghwa concurs, and they both look right at San, smirking.

Well, fuck.

Seonghwa runs interference closer to the rest of the crowd, making a show of sifting through them like he’s looking for someone to pluck out. Several people hide behind their phones, but most of the women near the front seem relaxed, like they know it won’t be them. They must be regulars.

Hongjoong materializes in front of San, and the latter nearly jumps out of his skin.

“You wanna be Wooyoung’s volunteer tonight? I doubt he’ll want to risk bringing in a stranger. He’d be more comfortable with you.”

San sputters. “Oh… I don’t… I can’t even remotely dance.”

“No, there’s no dancing!” Hongjoong assures. “You literally just have to sit.”

San looks at him, doubtful. “That’s all? Sit?”

“Yeah! Just sit! I promise.”

San’s lips twist up, but he shrugs. “All right, if that’s literally all I have to do.”

“Great!” Hongjoong beams, motioning to Wooyoung and bringing the mic back up to his mouth. “I think we have a great candidate here, Seonghwa.”

“Ooh, you really do have impeccable taste, Hong.” Seonghwa replies as Hongjoong presents San with a flourish like they’re on some kind of game show.

San already regrets his life choices.

Wooyoung’s face lights up with this grin that’s both delighted and devious, grabbing San’s hand and plucking him out of the crowd. Some Top 40 sex bop starts blaring over the speakers and San is pretty sure he’s going to die.

So, the first thing that San learns is that Hongjoong is a fucking liar.

He does not, indeed, simply have to sit. First, he has to _ stand—_stock-still and terrified, San might add—against a pole. A pole that Wooyoung quite suddenly shoves him against, hands above San’s head as he moves his hips like some kind of snake charmer. His hands itch to touch, just to rest on his waist for some kind of purchase, but then he’s moving _ down, _ his palms sliding from San’s neck, his chest, his abs… he chokes when Wooyoung is basically kneeling in front of him, looking up with those sultry eyes and _ fuck _ it should be illegal to look that good. Wooyoung smirks playfully and paws at his stomach, across the waistband of his jeans, and the fangirls squeal at the implications. San tries to swallow the lump now clogging his throat.

Wooyoung bolts to his feet, snagging San’s belt loops. He drags him back toward the center of their little dance floor, and San vaguely sees Yunho and Mingi move out of the corner of his eye, one of them carrying a chair.

Ah, so here comes the sitting.

He hears the scraping of plastic legs on concrete, and then Wooyoung is nudging him back into the chair that’s now set up behind him.

So, he’s sitting now.

Mingi and Yunho are knelt to either side, bracing the flimsy little armrests on the thing, and the way Wooyoung looks at him and bites his lip makes him think that maybe he’s not going to live very long.

He isn’t far off. Wooyoung practically leaps onto the chair, onto his _ lap, _and now he knows why Mingi and Yunho are there. They keep the chair from collapsing under the weight while Wooyoung essentially grinds on him. San keeps his own arms dutifully pinned to his sides, hands to himself. It would probably be a little humiliating if he wasn’t so fucking turned on.

As the beat winds down, Wooyoung climbs off of him and Mingi and Yunho break off as San is dragged by his collar out of the chair. Wooyoung gives him a coy grin before turning to the audience and lifting San’s arm like he’s showing him off. They all applaud enthusiastically.

San sneaks off to stand in the crowd again, still near the front for a good view, but everyone is stealing glances at him and whispering and he has the distinct feeling a few of them have read the news articles.

“You did great, especially for a first time.” He nearly leaps out of his skin when Hongjoong is suddenly next to him, trying to sound reassuring. “He’s really something, hm?”

“Yeah… really something.” San murmurs, distracted. His eyes haven’t left Wooyoung, and he doesn’t even notice when Hongjoong flits off, grinning like a madman.

The rest of the performances aren’t nearly as taxing on his own mental fortitude, though that may just be because everything winds down a little. Hongjoong and Mingi trade verses back and forth in something like a rap-battle, and Jongho ends the night with some romantic ballad from a popular K-drama. He positively chews the mic, San honestly doesn’t know how this kid doesn’t have a record deal yet but he’d take bets that one is coming sooner rather than later.

A few people linger while they’re packing up, the guys trying to remain friendly while only vaguely and dismissively answering them. From the glances the boys cast each other, this is a pretty regular thing. San squares his shoulders and ushers them away with a stern, “show’s over” spiel and they disperse.

“Oh, you come in handy.” Seonghwa comments with a grin. “Maybe we should keep you around.”

San laughs it off, because it’s obviously a joke… but Seonghwa doesn’t exactly look like he’s _ kidding. _The idea that these people might actually want to be friends with him makes that warm feeling settle in his chest again.

“San! Is Seonghwa being mean to you?” Wooyoung asks as he jumps between them, cheeks all puffed out like he’s ready for a fight.

“Not at all. Sounds like he wants to hire me on as a bodyguard for the whole troupe.” San tells him with a chuckle.

“Sounds like a plot to steal you away, honestly. I saw him first!” Wooyoung slings back at Seonghwa, who just shakes his head bemusedly.

“Of course, Wooyoungie. Anyway, we’re going to head out. You gonna be all right?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I think so?” Wooyoung asks, looking up at San like he’s wanting confirmation. Like it hinges on him.

“I’ll make sure he gets home safe.” San assures with a smile.

That seems to satisfy Seonghwa, and he nods. “Have a good night, you two. Don’t get into too much trouble.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Wooyoung responds in the kind of sing-song way that suggests he is, in fact, quite the troublemaker.

“See ya! Great having you back, Wooyoungie!” Yunho calls out as he and Mingi head out with enthusiastic waves.

“Great to be back! Be safe getting home!” He returns their waves, then turns to San with a sort of determination on his face. “Do you wanna get ice cream?”

Wooyoung asks like he’s lobbing an idea at the wall and hoping it sticks. Like he doesn’t want the night to end. San kind of understands the sentiment.

“Sure.” He agrees easily, and he has absolutely no regrets when Wooyoung loops his arms around one of his own, leaning heavily on his side with an eager smile as he leads him to his favorite ice cream place.

“So, do you live pretty close to this part of town?” San asks later around a spoonful of frozen yogurt as he and Wooyoung walk arm-in-arm around Hongdae. The streets are winding down, everyone ducking into the night clubs that stay open well into the morning hours.

“Only a few train stops before your studio. There’s this bubble tea place I love down the street from your studio, which is why I got off at that stop. But I just missed them; they'd already closed.” Wooyoung explains. “Do you live closer to your studio?”

“Yeah, I usually jog there in the mornings and back at night. It’s only a few kilometers’ distance.” San answers. “And the neighborhoods are mostly businesses and old folks, so it’s pretty safe.”

“Plus you’re kind of a walking weapon, so. Not like you need to worry.” Wooyoung reminds him.

San barks a laugh, shaking his head. “I’m not all that.”

“Says the guy who laid out the freak who tried to kidnap me. He’s still in the hospital, you know. The arresting officer has been keeping me updated for when they move him to the station since they can’t bring him up on charges yet.” Wooyoung replies.

San frowns. “Well, I apologize for accidentally dragging out the process… but I’m not sorry for kicking his ass. Who knows what he would’ve done to you.”

“Mm, I don’t mind. You’re my hero.” Wooyoung teases in a lilting, sing-song tone, giggling in between bites of his ice cream.

San polishes his off, and after he throws the paper his cone had been sitting in into a trash can, he has to stifle a yawn into his shoulder. “‘Scuse me.”

“Am I boring you?” Wooyoung pouts, only half joking.

“No, no, it’s just been a long week, is all.” San assures.

“I imagine so. I saw the social media storm.” Wooyoung mumbles. “Planning to sleep in tomorrow?”

“Not exactly.” San sighs. “There’s a festival at this local park tomorrow and my demo team is performing. It’s not until the afternoon, but I’ll have to get up early enough to prep everything.”

“Oh wait, is that the culture festival?” Wooyoung perks up. “My roommate was trying to convince me to go with him. You’re performing?”

“The demo team, yeah.” San answers. “We have a whole schtick, it’s really cheesy, but the parents love it.”

“Well now I _ have _to come!” Wooyoung tosses his empty ice cream cup into a trash can on the corner, then holds his hand out in a grabby motion. “Here, give me your phone. We should exchange numbers and we can meet up tomorrow after your demo thingy… we can do an early dinner or something.”

“All right.” San easily agrees, amused by Wooyoung’s enthusiasm. He saves his name in the other’s phone with a mountain and fist emoji next to it, and Wooyoung laughs as he texts him with the kiss-blowing emoji so he’ll have his number, too.

San saves his name with a little purple heart emoji next to it, because it reminds him of his hair.

“Well, I don’t wanna keep you up… you said you had a really long week. Walk me home?” Wooyoung asks, earnest.

“Absolutely. I’m not letting you wander around alone.” San replies with a chuckle, letting Wooyoung lead the way.

They catch what might be the last train back toward Wooyoung’s apartment, chatting all the while. San so rarely gets to talk to people in casual settings but with Wooyoung, he feels like he isn’t being irritating by talking too much. And Wooyoung talks a _ lot, _which San appreciates, because sometimes he just doesn’t know what to say himself.

Wooyoung is chattering away so emphatically that he doesn’t even notice they’ve reached his stop until the warning bell pings to signal that the doors are closing.

“Oh, this is us!” Wooyoung yelps, grabbing San’s hand and pulling him out of the train right before they can close on the two of them. San is a little flustered, but he laughs it off, and Wooyoung doesn’t let go of his hand for the entire walk.

Eventually they’re standing in front of an apartment complex, and Wooyoung stops.

“This is me.” He says, sounding a little regretful. “Thank you again for coming. I think I… can maybe try to start going again.”

“I can come along again, if it would help. Until you get back into the swing of things.” San tells him, smiling. “I had a lot of fun.”

“Me too.” Wooyoung replies, staring at San thoughtfully for a long moment before he leans in and plants a peck of a kiss on his cheek. He pulls away quickly, face blazing. “Goodnight!”

He says it so fast that it’s almost garbled, then bolts for the door of his building with a hasty wave. San is a little stunned, but he smiles to himself, staring through the glass until he sees Wooyoung disappear into the stairwell.

“Good night.” He murmurs to no one, and his smile doesn’t fall for his entire journey home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait on this, I have so many WIPs that they are getting out of hand. I was hoping to fit the entire story into 2 chaps but it will be 3. The final chapter is mostly done, so hopefully there won’t be a similar wait on it. I’m also not bothering with the SNS AU aspect of the fic any longer, though I won’t completely rule out the possibility of me finishing it eventually (to coincide with the fic’s events).

San sits in the dark on his living room couch, drinking his coffee in quiet contemplation as he mentally prepares to face the day.

He isn’t pretentious enough to call it meditation, but it  _ has  _ been a daily ritual of his for a long time. Honestly, anyone else might find it weird or unnerving.

With a sigh, he slaps his hand down on his knee and stands. The day isn’t going to start itself… and he has a lot to do.

Hours later finds San wrangling a dozen of his students next to the stage at the park while their parents coo excitedly and snap photos before scurrying off to find a spot in the audience. It’s not a huge crowd; these kinds of performances aren’t exactly in demand or particularly exciting for most people, but the parents just eat it up.

San kneels to fix at least the third belt today, ensuring the knot is tight and centered before patting the student on the tummy to chase away their frown. “Don’t let the nerves in. Remember what I said?”

“Look confident, even if I don’t feel confident.” The student parrots.

“That’s right.” San nods. “If the audience  _ thinks _ you’re confident, they’ll feed on that. But if you  _ look _ nervous, they’ll be nervous for you and that’s not good.”

“That’s pretty solid advice.” Says a sweet voice from behind him. He turns to see Wooyoung standing there grinning at him. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself.” San responds with a smile of his own, getting to his feet.

Wooyoung looks… soft. His hair isn’t styled like it usually is, instead left to fall almost naturally, though it’s likely still purposeful. It’s also blond, which suggests the lavender he’s used to is either a temporary rinse or a hair wax of some kind. He’s wearing pale acid wash jeans that fit his legs like a second skin, but they’re paired with a loose white shirt that almost seems too big on him. Too many of the front buttons are undone to be considered decent, revealing a white v-neck underneath that still leaves plenty of clavicle exposed.

He’s also wearing a thin black choker, which San thinks should be illegal for the way it draws his eye.

“I just wanted to come say hey before your set, but you seem like you have your hands full, so I’ll catch you after, okay?” Wooyoung says sweetly.

“Yeah, uh, that’s great—that’ll be great. Thanks for coming out.” San says probably too quickly, and he thinks  _ his _ nervousness might be showing.

Wooyoung offers a cute wave and heads over to find a spot in the audience. San definitely doesn’t watch him go, watch him meet up with some obscenely handsome guy he doesn’t recognize from Hongdae. He stamps down whatever feeling boils up in his gut at that and turns his attention back to his class.

One of his older female students wheedles at him about just who  _ that  _ was, her curiosity eventually winning out over San’s resolve. He admits that he is the dancer who had come into the studio chased by some stalker. She positively squeals, asks if they’re  _ dating— _ he is very open about his sexuality with his older students, since many of them attend the self-defense classes he puts on expressly for them—and he has to bring the focus back onto their upcoming performance more than once.

The dance troupe that went on before them finishes up, and the emcee takes the stage to introduce them. He hypes his students up one last time, encouraging them and cracking a joke or two to get their minds off their nerves. And then, too soon, they have to take the stage.

San had chosen instrumentals of two SuperM songs for the demo team performance, and the kids appreciated getting to perform to some awesome beats. The first song, meant for the form and weapon demonstrations, perfectly blends traditional instruments with modern EDM. It perfectly represents Taekwondo, in a sense; a modernized practice with ancient roots.

The kids do well. They aren’t entirely synchronized, but given that some of them are quite young, he can’t expect perfection. San remains in the wings, watching and providing moral support in the form of a thumbs-up if any of them glance nervously in his direction.

Once the younger kids are finished with their set, they head for the wings, the older students taking their place. San high-fives the younger ones as they file offstage one by one. No one is having a breakdown, so that’s an improvement. The older students perform more complex weapon forms individually and in pairs, then demonstrate simple fight choreography that has the audience watching with rapt attention. As that portion of the performance ends, San snaps up his nunchucks and takes the stage.

Weapon forms are mostly about practicality, so he has a freestyle one he’s cobbled together for demos. Most of his students have only mastered using one pair, but he usually does his demos with two. It’s flashy, his quick strikes and kicks wowing the crowd, and when he effortlessly lets go and twirls them over his hands only to snap them up again, they eat it up.

When the first song bleeds into the next, an epic orchestral introduction signals the start of the second phase of the performance. San’s older students run enthusiastically out onto the stage, one of them relieving him of his nunchucks. His more experienced students are far more in-sync, beginning with some flashy kicks before they grab for the boards.

The sequence they’ve prepared is a one-versus-all type situation, with the students mimicking attacking him in a large circle with San at the center. San doesn’t strike them, just the boards, and when their boards break, they fall back in defeat in a dramatic fashion. San turns and flips and spins and kicks, everything he  _ wouldn’t _ do in a real fight, but that’s not the point. The students had actually brought the idea to him, saying it would be cool to have something like the famous fight sequence in the second  _ Ip Man _ film. San had laughed at first, but the audience seems to love it.

After each of his students is “defeated”, they move onto the next phase, which is just a series of increasingly more complex board-breaks leading up to the finale.

Board-breaking is flashy, but honestly, it’s not  _ actually _ that impressive if you’re remotely knowledgeable about it. The boards they use are brittle and meant to snap at the slightest pressure, so it really just becomes a demonstration of increasingly complicated jumps and kicks. The parents just  _ live  _ for it, though, so proud of their kids breaking wood in half even with something as simple as a sidekick.

None of his students have really gotten into the showier aspects of demo team, which leaves it all on his shoulders. San doesn’t mind, exactly, but he can’t be the only one to do it forever.

They have practiced this routine a thousand times, and it shows.

His students hold boards on either side of him just as the orchestral music swells again. San jumps, flying through the air and breaking both boards with a split kick and a dramatic  _ kihap.  _ An impressed exclamation rolls through the audience and after he lands and bows, they clap enthusiastically.

He has to laugh to himself privately, because it’s such a simple thing but it makes everyone go nuts. He only has more and more impressive stunts planned for the rest of the demonstration.

San’s students move in perfectly practiced arcs, discarding broken boards and retrieving fresh ones, as well as snagging some folding chairs. Three of his students stand on the chairs or in front of them, creating a vertical row of three boards for him.

Now  _ these  _ kinds of tricks, they take skill. Aiming for a board while you’re rotating midair is pretty difficult. He doesn’t hit them every time, which is why he practices constantly.

He takes his time before he moves. When he does, he takes out all three boards with a single jump, spinning with three separate kicks in quick succession. The crowd is still reacting when his students move again, efficient and practiced.

One of his female students settles on the shoulders of one of his stronger male students, holding the board high, and another stands at the ready under the board, a fourth bracing him from behind.

The music swells again just as San runs for the jump, using the braced student’s cupped hands as a spring-board to launch himself up high enough to reach the board. He pivots and flips midair, snapping the board in half with a flawless kick before sticking the landing. A shower of confetti that they’d rigged to the board showers down from above as he slides into a ready stance with a showy  _ kihap,  _ and the audience just eats it up, cheering loudly.

San catches sight of Wooyoung in the crowd, and he’s applauding a bit dazedly, his mouth making that little o-shape it always seems to when he’s watching him intently.

As finales go, he’ll call it a win.

His students all bow with him and the cheers swell again as the emcee thanks them and plugs the studio name once more before they all file off stage.

San makes sure all the kids get to their parents, and many of them ask him to pose for photos with their kids and their broken boards or the demo weapons and it’s a little while before they all leave. He wonders if Wooyoung is texting him, or if he just went off to enjoy the rest of the festival until San is finished.

His question is answered when he slings his duffle over his shoulder and turns the corner around the large speaker setup to see Wooyoung standing there with the pretty stranger from before. He offers a wave just as Wooyoung catches his eye, and the dancer beams, skipping over excitedly.

“That was… that was  _ so  _ cool, San!”

“Ah, thanks, but it’s just for show. We don’t really use all that stuff. Honestly I barely even teach it.” San tells him, laughing. He regards the beautiful stranger next to Wooyoung again curiously. “Um, I don’t think we’ve met? Unless it was really dark last night and my memory is failing me.”

“No, we haven’t met. I’m Yeosang, the roommate.” The man tells him, his voice several octaves deeper and softer than San had been expecting. He offers a hand politely, and San shakes it.

“Nice to meet you. Wooyoung had mentioned you.”

“Did he now?” Yeosang drawls, eyeing his friend suspiciously. “He mentioned you, too. I can see how you could have saved his life. You’re pretty good at all that.”

“Ah, like I said, none of that is really practical. But I was just happy to help.” San replies, waving his hands somewhat dismissively.

“Did you want to check out the rest of the festival now?” Wooyoung asks eagerly, grabbing San’s arm before he even gets a chance to answer.

“Um, sure. There’s food vendors, right? I’m starving.” San says with a laugh.

“Most definitely.” Wooyoung assures.

“You brought me pizza last night, so can I treat you to some street foods today?”

“Absolutely.” Wooyoung replies with a toothy grin. 

Yeosang remains suspiciously quiet as they wait in line at one of the food trucks. Wooyoung goes on a little bit about how Yeosang’s diet seems to only consist of chicken. He implies that he’s practically obsessed with Korean chicken, so it takes San by surprise that he doesn’t order any. San adds some to their order and they stand nearby and chat while they wait.

Yeosang seems firmly focused upon his studies, but he works part-time at the university, so this is apparently one of his few days off. Wooyoung laments the loss of his best friend in an overly-dramatic fashion, claiming he is basically a ghost in their apartment now, dead to the world. Yeosang offers valiant protests, but Wooyoung just goes on about how he can sometimes still hear his voice, like a distant memory.

San laughs even as he steps away to grab their food when their number is called. He hands over one order of beef skewers to Wooyoung, keeping one for himself and holding out a paper boat filled with Korean chicken for Yeosang.

“I… for me?” Yeosang blinks, confused.

“Yeah. I’ve never done the starving student thing myself, y’know, but it’s nine-tenths of the reason I lost touch with all my high school friends, if I’m being honest. They got so busy with working, keeping their grades up… it’s a lot. Especially when I couldn’t exactly make myself available as a friend, running a business and all.” San explains. “So I get it. Not everyone is handed a successful small business by their parent, or wants to follow that path if they are. I’m lucky to have the means that I do and I’m happy to share it.”

“Well… I won’t refuse such a kind gesture. Thank you.” Yeosang says, accepting the food with a smile. The expression instantly transforms his face from devastatingly handsome to obscenely cute, and his teeth look like perfect rows of pearly-white chiclets. It falls after a moment, however, as he forcibly tries not to grin when he turns to Wooyoung. “You’ve nabbed yourself quite a man here, Wooyoungie.”

Wooyoung sputters, choking a bit on his kebab. “I haven’t  _ nabbed _ anyone, jeez—”

“Sure.” Yeosang drawls, sending San a wink.

San studiously focuses on eating his own food.

They stroll through the rows and rows of food trucks and booths as they do, delicious smells assaulting them from all sides. Now that San’s stomach doesn’t feel like it’s trying to eat his insides, it’s actually a pleasant experience. They all chat idly about their favorite foods… Yeosang is a fan of chicken—and chicken  _ only,  _ it seems—while Wooyoung seems to enjoy all things sweet, carby and indulgent. He insists he’s on a diet, or  _ trying  _ to diet, but Yeosang teases him with claims that he has exactly zero self-control.

San doesn’t really think Wooyoung needs to diet, just looking at him… but it’s not really his place to say so, so he doesn’t. He mostly just watches the two of them interact. They seem really close; Yeosang is quiet and somewhat withdrawn, but doesn’t hesitate to fire a barbed quip or savage comment if Wooyoung leaves him an opening. Wooyoung is bright and talkative and unapologetically loud in a way that makes San sort of jealous of his confidence and charisma. He doesn’t say much himself, save to chime in with a small comment or to laugh, but he’s enjoying just being around them.

Once Yeosang finishes up his chicken, he disposes of the little paper boat in a nearby trash can. San and Wooyoung’s kebab sticks follow, after Wooyoung has made a show of turning his own into walrus tusks for a laugh, of course.

“Well, with that thrilling display, I’ll catch you later, Youngie.” Yeosang pipes up, ruffling the other’s hair before turning to San. “It was nice meeting you, and thanks again for the chicken.”

“Oh, were you not joining us?” San questions, a little confused.

“Yeah, I thought you were gonna stay?” Wooyoung adds.

“Nah, I just wanted to chaperone until I could hand you off to your date, and then he fed me so I couldn’t just take off.” Yeosang teases, already heading out with a wave over his shoulder. “Have fun, you two.”

“Date, huh?” San chuckles. “I’m in my demo dobok and sweaty as all-hell, so I feel like I’m a little underdressed for a  _ date.” _

“Don’t listen to him!” Wooyoung squeaks. “He’s just goading you. Us. Mostly me.”

“Oh, so… not a date?” San isn’t sure if he’s trying to sound disappointed, but he does.

Wooyoung’s face falls, and he sounds a little panicked. “No, yes, wait—I mean… it can be a date if you want!”

San can’t help but laugh, because all of Wooyoung’s confidence from the night before seems to have left him. He wonders if it’s because he’s only confident in his element; Hongdae and dancing, or if something else has changed.

San thinks he gets it. He feels confident in his studio, but totally out of his depth in Hongdae. Maybe he and Wooyoung are just pendulums swinging in opposite directions, their comfort levels never synchronizing in the same place.

“I’d really like that.” San tells him, smiling. 

Wooyoung’s nerves seem to calm, and he nods, sliding his arm into San’s once more.

They end up with some kind of fruit bowl dessert to pick at while they walk around the festival, checking out the vendors and displays. Wooyoung coos excitedly and falls all over himself to pet a shiba inu that’s wearing a hanbok, and San thinks that he can’t decide which of the two of them is more adorable.

“His name is Puchi, San!” Wooyoung bleats, eyes a little teary. “I’d die for him.”

San can’t help but laugh, eventually managing to pull him away toward the jewelry vendors.

It’s… nice. San hasn’t really had close friends in years. After his father had him take on more responsibilities at the studio, he had less and less time for any of his friends, and once his father retired, he pretty much fell out of their lives completely. He hadn’t realized how lonely he’d been until Wooyoung showed him what he’s been missing.

He envies Wooyoung a little for having so many friends he’s clearly close to.

“So, uh… how long have you and Yeosang been living together?” San asks, admittedly curious but also just looking to fill the silence as they walk.

“Um, two or three years I think?” Wooyoung answers, thinking for a moment. “But we’ve been friends for five. Since high school!”

“That’s pretty cool. I don’t think I’ve talked to anyone from high school since… high school.” San tells him with a somewhat self-depreciating laugh. “And you said he’s studying to become a teacher?”

“Y-yeah.” Wooyoung responds, something in his voice that San can’t quite pinpoint. He wonders if maybe it was a point of contention between the two of them.

“But he was in the dance troupe with you and your other friends before, right?” San asks, recalling their conversation from the subway ride a week or so ago.

“Uh huh.” Wooyoung answers in a somewhat flat tone. San definitely feels he’s touched a nerve somehow.

“Um… did I, uh… say something I shouldn’t have?” San asks softly. The hurt and concern must show on his face, because when Wooyoung looks over, his expression falls guiltily.

“It’s just…” Wooyoung lets out a deep, frustrated sigh, the tips of his ears a little red with what San assumes is embarrassment or irritation. Maybe both. “The last, like…  _ four  _ guys I tried to date all ditched me for Yeosang.”

San blinks. “They… what?”

“He’s like my own personal Jolene, except he’s not malicious about it.” Wooyoung grumbles. “What’s sad is he doesn’t even  _ try.” _

“Wooyoung—”

“I mean, he didn’t  _ steal  _ them, because he told them to fuck off, by the way… but it’s like the moment a guy meets my roommate I’m no longer interesting enough.” Wooyoung huffs.

“I… don’t really understand that at all.” San says. “I may have only met him for like half an hour but you seem so… different from each other.”

“Well it became pretty clear that those guys weren’t interested in me as a person.” Wooyoung mumbles. “And Yeosang is like, so much prettier than me.”

“Okay, I’m going to stop you right there.” San cuts in. “I have eyes, so, yes, I will admit that your roommate is a very beautiful man. No one’s denying that. But there’s no need for comparison. You’re both firmly your own person. And as much as I think you’re obscenely attractive, that’s not the reason I like hanging out with you.”

“It’s… not?” Wooyoung asks quietly.

“No. You are a  _ lot  _ more than your pretty face… pretty though it may be.” San tells him with a wink.

Wooyoung flusters, looking away. “I guess I just… you were asking a lot of questions about him, so I just… assumed.”

“I just wanted to know more about him because he seems so important to you.” San explains. “And I’d… like to ask about your dance troupe friends, too, if that’s okay?”

Wooyoung seems to deflate a little. “Yeah, I… sorry, wow, I really made an idiot out of myself, huh? I must seem so petty and jealous—”

“No, you don’t.” San insists. “It’s not your fault for misunderstanding my intentions. I’m not the greatest at all this social stuff, so I probably could have gone about it better. And you had every reason—I mean,  _ four  _ times? That’s—look, if you ever see those guys around, just point them out and they might mysteriously end up with a black eye, or something.”

Wooyoung giggles like it was stolen from him, and San can’t help but smile. “Mm, so much machismo! But there’s no way you’d  _ actually  _ knock someone out unless you had to. You don’t strike me as someone who’s into violence except as a last resort.”

“Ah, well, you’d be right. But, I feel like it’s for a good cause. You’re worth throwing down for.” San teases, winking.

Wooyoung blushes, puffing his cheeks out a bit and looking down. “Didn’t you have more questions about my friends, or something?”

San laughs at that, shaking his head. “Sure. So how long have you all been doing the… dance troupe thing?”

“We formed it like four years ago, mostly to get Hongjoong-hyung off our backs. He’s really trying to break into the industry.”

“And you aren’t?” San questions.

“I mean, I am… but, I don’t know. I was, definitely, before.” Wooyoung purses his lips a bit. “I guess I’m just more realistic about it now? The rejections have been… humbling.”

“Oh.”

“But we built up a following of our own, anyhow, so it’s all good in the end.” He smiles brightly, then, just at the thought of their little army of fans. “I don’t want to think of it as giving up on my dream, but… I want to be realistic.”

“That’s fair.” San concedes.

“Still, it… kind of feels like I’m… stuck.” Wooyoung sighs.

“You’re happy, though… right? When you’re dancing with them?” San asks.

“Yeah! I mean. It would be nice to not have to juggle a job I really don’t like with the troupe, but yeah. If we never get any bigger, I’d still be happy doing what we do now.”

“That’s a good attitude to have. Society has gotten to this point where it’s like, if you’re not the best, or even just not great at something, that you shouldn’t do it. Because everything’s so monetized and it’s this big rat race to try and be the best, to make the most money, or else you made a mistake or you’re wasting your life.” San gives a huff of a sigh. “But people should be able to just do things because it makes them happy. Who cares if you aren’t the best singer? If you love to sing, then people should let you. Same goes with any passion. You know, I’ll never be the number one martial arts competitor at Worlds, or in the country, or even in the district. I’ll probably never have the number one studio, or even the top ten. But does that mean I’m wasting my life? I love what I do and the kids I teach are happy so why isn’t that enough to some people?”

Wooyoung just cocks his head at him a little, an unreadable expression on his face. San realizes he’s been rambling and his face goes hot. He coughs and looks away, running a hand through his hair nervously.

“Sorry, that probably sounds really preachy and self-helpy but it’s just something I’ve thought a lot about. My friends all felt that pressure and I literally lost touch with all of them because they didn’t even have time to have normal friendships with how hard their parents were pushing them toward their career paths. I didn’t mean to go on such a tangent.”

“No, it was, uh… you’re right. I mean, I completely agree.” Wooyoung tells him, grinning. 

“Oh. Right.” San laughs uneasily, scratching at the back of his neck. He feels like a total disaster, but Wooyoung doesn’t seem to mind.

They spend the rest of the day together, until afternoon bleeds into evening, the sun’s light draining from the sky. Wooyoung seems to notice the time only when he realizes he’s hungry again, and he stares at the darkening horizon with confusion. He hadn’t even seen the sun go down… he was too busy basking in San’s company.

“Wow, it’s, uh, getting kind of late, huh? Where’d the day go?”

San smiles a little sheepishly. “Sorry, I’ve wasted your entire Saturday, huh?”

“Wasted? No.” Wooyoung scoffs. “But I should probably head home.”

“Let me make sure you get back safe.” San offers, unassuming. “You know, in case of additional stalkers.”

“Right, better safe than sorry.” Wooyoung agrees, taking his hand as they head for the train station.

The subway is a bit crowded, so they don’t get to talk much. They end up just checking their phones, having abandoned them for most of the day in each others’ company. By the time they’re walking up to Wooyoung’s building, it’s completely dark out.

“Well, as you know, this is me.”

San nods. “I had a great time.”

“Me too.” Wooyoung smiles. “When can I see you again?”

San cringes a little, because responsibility beckons. “I’ve got a lot of paperwork to catch up on for the studio, so I’m not sure when I’ll have the chance to get away, but… I’ll let you know.”

“Mm, sounds kinda like a ‘don’t call me, I’ll call you’ thing, but okay.” Wooyoung teases, but something on his face makes it seem like he might truly believe that, if only a little.

“No, definitely not.” San counters. “I’m just trying to be a responsible adult, even though I really don’t want to. You’re always welcome to drop by if you have a free evening.”

Wooyoung giggles, biting his lip. “Okay. As long as you aren’t sick of me.”

“Not remotely.” San assures, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his cheek. He manages to seem confident about it, he thinks, but his heart is nearly pounding out of his chest. “Have a good night, Wooyoung.”

“Y-yeah, you too…” Wooyoung murmurs a little dazedly as he walks backwards until he hits the door, fumbling a little bit to get it open. “Uh… night!”

And just like that, he’s gone. San laughs softly to himself as he heads for the subway station, his lips tingling a little and his heart swimming with promise.

***

The week drags by, but San still feels like he still doesn’t have enough hours in the day. It might have to do with how he spends a lot of it texting Wooyoung in the spare moments between his classes instead of trying to sift through all the invoice work he needs to do. That leaves him to do it in the evenings instead of getting in his own workout, which is not ideal.

On Wednesday, Wooyoung asks him if he wants to come out to Hongdae with him that night since some members of his troupe will be performing an extra day. San  _ wants  _ to say yes, but he decides to be responsible and declines so that he can finish all the paperwork he needs to do.

If he can get it done, then he’ll have enough time to go see Wooyoung perform closer to the weekend.

He feels bad for saying no, but he promises that if he gets it all done, he’ll make it up to him.

On Wednesday night, he stays late to catch up on the worst of the paperwork, and he’s able to finish it all up before his first Thursday afternoon class. The vicious cycle will start again the next week, he knows, but he’s proud he managed it for the time being.

San enjoys Thursdays because his best class is on that day. The kids are so eager and attentive and they look at him like he’s a superhero whenever he does so much as a jumping kick.

By the time it’s time for them to leave, it’s pouring rain. The sky has been ominously gray all day, so he’s not the least bit surprised, and he follows the kids out the door with his umbrella.

The van that comes to pick them up pulls as close as it can to the studio, but a bit of water still manages to leak between the building's awning and the vehicle. San holds up the umbrella over the door and makes sure all the kids are in the van before he steps back.

“Bye Sabeom-nim!” They cheer in unison, waving enthusiastically as the door is closed.

“See you next week!” He calls back with a wave of his own, smiling brightly as the van pulls away from the curb.

As he closes the umbrella, protected himself by the awning of the building, he spots Wooyoung standing at the opposite edge of the awning, closed umbrella dripping in his hand and a messenger bag slung over his shoulder. His hair is center-parted and has a silvery sheen. Probably another color rinse over the blond.

San can’t help but beam at him. “Oh, hey!”

“Hey.” Wooyoung smiles, then cocks his head curiously. “Do most of your students come by bus?”

“Nah, most of them have a relative drop them off.” San tells him, shaking out his umbrella at a safe distance as Wooyoung approaches. “But at least once a week I have a class of foster kids I teach free of charge. That was them. The community center brings them over.”

“Oh.” Wooyoung murmurs, and there’s something on his face that San can’t read.

“It was kind of a weird situation, but there was an awful water leak in the studio a few years back that forced us to shut down for repairs for weeks. There was a local community center that agreed to let me teach classes in their gymnasium for a really low rental fee, if I agreed to let the younger foster kids in their after school programs participate in weekly classes.” San explains. “We did a fundraiser to get them uniforms and belts and I taught there for almost two months. After the deal was up, the kids were so bummed that they couldn’t keep learning martial arts. For a bit, I just went over there and taught them once a week, but after the community center got the van, they agreed to bring the kids here weekly so they’d get the full experience.”

Wooyoung’s expression opens up a little, seeming almost surprised. “That’s um… wow.”

“I actually adore them to pieces. They’re so much more well-behaved than a lot of my other students.” San admits. “Some of them know their parents pay to enroll them here so they can act a bit entitled, but the community center class kids are just thrilled to be here. They’re so respectful.”

“You’ve got a soft spot for charity cases, huh?” Wooyoung asks finally, his voice soft and holding a lot less teasing bite than it usually would.

“I don’t really see it like that.” San insists, waving off the notion. “I like to look at it as fate intervening, putting me where I need to be. Maybe the water leak sent me to that community center because those kids really needed the stability of routine, and something to help them gain confidence. And maybe I stayed late practicing that night you needed help because I was meant to be here to stop that guy.”

“I’d… really like to think that fate is on our side on this one.” Wooyoung mumbles, mostly to himself, and San laughs.

“Yeah, me too. It’s kind of a comforting thought.”

Neither of them says anything for a moment, until thunder rumbles in the distance, and Wooyoung seems to jolt, moving closer to the building.

“Wanna head inside?” San asks, visibly pulling Wooyoung from his panic.

“Yeah, sorry.” He smiles uneasily and follows San back into the dojang.

“So I notice that you’re a little earlier than usual.” San comments.

“Yeah, well, the team and I were gonna have practice before the sun went down but then the rain blew in.” Wooyoung explains, holding tightly to the strap of the messenger bag on his shoulder. “I was already out so I figured I’d stop by and ask for more of those self-defense lessons.”

“Oh? Run into some too-handsy fans you feel the need to knock out or something?” San asks, cracking his knuckles. “Because I was serious about helping out after your performances.”

Wooyoung giggles. “No, I was just wanting to take you up on your offer.”

San locks the front door, then kills the lights in the entryway, leaving only the studio floor illuminated. “Great. Let’s do it, then.”

Wooyoung changes in the locker rooms, then tucks his phone into his bag and leaves it by the front mirrors, claiming he’s too paranoid he’ll forget it if he leaves it in the back. They practice several new drills, well into the night. Both of them end up thrown against the mat repeatedly, though definitely Wooyoung more than San. By the end of it all, they’re both sweaty and a little out of breath, and Wooyoung laments that he is especially sore in places he isn’t used to being, even as a dancer.

Afterward, they sit together against the mirrors at the front edge of the mat, catching their breath.

“That was good, you’re really getting the hang of it.” San tells him, beaming.

“You’re just saying that.” Wooyoung grunts, puffing up his cheeks.

San laughs. “Well, I had fun teaching you, anyway.”

“Teaching me? More like using me as a punching bag.” Wooyoung complains. “This how you get your kicks? Beating up boys who aren’t as good as you?”

“Only if they’re cute.” San replies with a wink.

“Offer private lessons to many cute boys?” Wooyoung teases petulantly.

“Mm… nah. Just the ones I like.” San tells him with a wink. “So, just you.”

Wooyoung stares at him for several long seconds, almost like he’s debating something internally.

After a moment, the debate apparently settled, he leans over and presses his lips to San’s.

Admittedly, San is a little startled, but more than delighted, and he cards a hand up into Wooyoung’s hair, kissing him back eagerly.

Wooyoung makes a soft noise against his lips and practically launches himself into San’s lap, grabbing at his shirt to haul him close. He kisses in a way that’s reckless and sure—San feels a little out of his depth, but in the best way.

He truly has no idea just how far out of his depth he is until Wooyoung is rocking down against him in a sinful cadence. San braces his hands against Wooyoung’s waist while Wooyoung’s own hands wander, untucking San’s shirt so he can get at his skin. His thumbs skirt over San’s abs and he honest-to-god  _ groans,  _ his fingers digging into the sensitive flesh of his waist.

“Want you.” He murmurs, and his tone is sure but it  _ is  _ a question. Wooyoung’s fingers slip down just inside the elastic waistband of San’s dobok pants, and San nods breathlessly.

Wooyoung climbs out of his lap, pulling San along so he’s forced up onto his knees. San goes easily, more than happy to obey. He has had every intention of taking this at Wooyoung’s pace from the beginning, having done his best to parse out Wooyoung’s comfort level.

But Wooyoung doesn’t seem to be the slow type.

Wooyoung barely even has him out of his pants before he’s taking him down to the hilt, audibly choking. He doesn’t pull off, though, just works through it even as his throat flutters in protest around San’s cock. It’s as though Wooyoung believes he only has scant seconds to prove himself to San or he’ll send him packing. San has no idea where he could possibly have gotten that impression but when Wooyoung gags again, he can’t let him keep it up.

“Hey… easy, easy baby.” San soothes, tugging him back a little by his hair. Wooyoung doesn’t budge, just swallows around him in a way that makes San’s eyes roll back a little. “Fuck, okay, okay. Woo-Wooyoung— _ Christ!” _

Wooyoung seems to delight in his reaction, though, trilling happily and gripping hard at San’s hips as he drags him closer,  _ deeper,  _ and San might be  _ very  _ close to losing his mind.

This  _ isn’t  _ what San had in mind when Wooyoung had said he wanted him. This is, by far,  _ infinitely  _ hotter.

San lets his hand settle into Wooyoung’s hair, not pulling anymore but grounding himself, the other coming up to cradle Wooyoung’s cheek and jaw. He strokes his thumb soothingly over the sweet, high curve of it, wiping away the single tear that has involuntarily slipped down.

“Nnh… feels so good, baby. Gonna drive me crazy like this.” San hisses. When he tries—unsuccessfully—to keep from bucking his hips, he is a little surprised by Wooyoung’s fervent reaction. He hesitates, even though Wooyoung is so clearly encouraging him. He doesn’t start rolling his hips until the other tugs hard at his pants, insistent.

San goes slow. He keeps his grip gentle and his thrusts shallow, even though Wooyoung chases the push and pull. He doesn’t hold back, either, using his tongue in ways that San thinks should probably be illegal and moaning softly like  _ he’s  _ the one being pleasured. It drives San  _ wild.  _

Gun to his head, San could not accurately say how long they stay like that, but he’s sure it’s an embarrassingly short amount of time before he starts to feel that coil of pleasure in his gut become overwhelming.

“F-fuck, ah—Wooyoung, m’gonna come—” San hisses, but suddenly, that glorious warmth is gone, and he lets out a cracked whine of protest and confusion.

“Wait… wait.” Wooyoung grunts, voice rough and fucked out after he pulls off. He filthily runs the flat of his tongue over the slit before he tucks him away again. “Don’t come yet. Want you to fuck me.”

San thinks his brain might’ve fizzled out a little, sluggishly trying to catch up to what Wooyoung has just said. “You… oh. Yeah, I mean—yeah, I’d uh… yes. Fuck yes.”

Wooyoung giggles softly, some of that sweetness coming back into his voice. “I’ve got stuff… in my bag.”

“Do you now?” San drawls, still a little breathless from being so close to the edge. He wraps his arms around Wooyoung and pulls him in, swiping along the mess on his chin and lower lip with his thumb. “Did you come here with the intent to seduce me?”

It’s a tease, clear from his tone and the playful smirk he offers, but Wooyoung still turns pink.

“I mean…  _ seduce  _ sounds so nefarious. But I…” He swallows, meeting his gaze. “I’ve pretty much wanted you since we met.”

“I could say the same.” San admits. “I’m just… hopelessly unromantic, as you might have noticed.”

“Not at all.” Wooyoung snorts, rolling his eyes.

“I’m working on it.” San quips back, pulling him in the rest of the way to kiss him fiercely. He pivots their positions and presses Wooyoung against the mirror, leaving streaks of their fingerprints all over it. He’ll have to clean it thoroughly later, but right now, he could not possibly care any less. He is much more content to focus on nibbling at Wooyoung’s delectable neck, basking in the way he squirms and mewls.

“San… San, god  _ fuck,  _ I want you—” Wooyoung whines sweetly, clawing at his back through his shirt.

“Right here?” San asks with a breathless, incredulous laugh, and Wooyoung just nods emphatically. “So impatient.”

“Don’t care. Just… touch me,  _ please.”  _

“There are cameras in here.” San reminds him.

“I know.” Wooyoung responds, level.

“I can erase the footage in front of you later.” San assures casually enough that he should sound genuine.

“Keep it for all I care.” Wooyoung replies easily, biting his lip when San stops and catches his gaze, arching an eyebrow.

“Oh, that’s how it’s going to be, then?” He smirks, hooking his fingers into Wooyoung’s waistband and dragging his pants down with one forceful yank. “You’re a kinky little thing, aren’t you?”

“Why don’t you find out for yourself?” Wooyoung retorts, and it distinctly sounds like a challenge.

“Mm, it would be my  _ pleasure.”  _ San growls softly, pitching Wooyoung’s pants off to the side and settling between his legs. He pauses long enough to pull off his own shirt, throwing it aside as well.

Wooyoung’s eyes track over his chest, over the ink that is permanently embedded into his skin. Words just beneath his shoulder, at the edge of his clavicle… as well as the flowers at the vee of his hip, just above his waistband.

Wooyoung’s fingertips trace over the hangul of the tattoo on his upper body, which reads  _ ‘Strength of the mountain.’  _ It’s meant to be more about emotional constitution than physical, and he wonders if Wooyoung thinks it’s some cocky declaration.

“You have tattoos.”

San nods. “Not what you expected?”

“N-no, it’s, uh.” Wooyoung’s cheeks somehow flush pinker. “It’s kinda hot.”

San smirks, chuckling. “Oh yeah?”

Wooyoung nods, and he looks embarrassed, but he also can’t take his eyes off San’s chest.

San isn’t someone who works out  _ to  _ get cut, but he ended up there simply from his lifestyle. He doesn’t have deep vanity abs, but his body is a testament to his hard work and dedication to martial arts. He isn’t bulky, but he’s closer to cut than just toned. He can’t help but preen when Wooyoung practically drools at the sight.

However, when San’s fingertips curl at the hem of Wooyoung’s shirt, Wooyoung’s hands fly up, holding it down.

“M-maybe… keep mine on?”

San’s brow furrows in confusion, but he releases the hem. “If that makes you more comfortable… but can I ask why?”

A bright-red blush creeps up from Wooyoung’s neck to his cheeks, and he covers his face. “S’just… I’m not in the best shape—”

San can’t help the bark of a laugh that escapes him then. “Wooyoung, there’s a mirror right there, if you need one. And I think you do.”

“No, I mean it. You’re all…” Wooyoung motions to San’s torso. “...cut and perfect, and I’m just kind of… bleh.”

“I mean, I’ll be honest with you, I’m not here trying to fuck myself?” San tells him frankly. “And I don’t know what kind of delusions you’re under, but you are _gorgeous, _Wooyoung. If you’re more comfortable with it on, that’s fine, but I just don’t want you thinking that you not having washboard abs is a turnoff for me, okay?”

Wooyoung bites his lip, nodding and mumbling a soft, “Okay.”

San leaves the shirt, but it ends up rucked up a little anyway when he trails his hands up beneath it to find Wooyoung’s pecs, teasing his nipples mercilessly with his fingers. Wooyoung whimpers and thrashes, shivering a little under his touch.

“You said you had stuff, in your bag?” San murmurs after a little while, his eyes tracking over to the duffle.

“Right, yeah. Yes.” Wooyoung huffs out, taking a second or two to come back to his senses before he leans over and shuffles through the side pocket. He pulls out what is clearly a fresh bottle of lube and a roll of a half-dozen condoms that’s obviously just been unboxed.

“Ambitious.” San teases, grinning at him.

“Well, you know, better to have and not need, then to find out you’re a machine and not be prepared.” Wooyoung quips back.

San laughs. “Afraid I’m not anything close to that, but there’s always next time.”

“Now who’s ambitious?” Wooyoung teases with a sly smirk.

“Ooh, fair. Touch é .” San concedes, watching with amusement the way Wooyoung’s eyes track his movements as he snaps open the lube and coats his fingers. “Guess I gotta get past the audition phase, first, huh?”

“This isn’t an  _ auditi—oh!”  _ Wooyoung swallows his own words when San presses his slick fingers against his rim.

San sets aside any further clever taunts in favor of prepping him. Even if it  _ isn’t  _ an audition, he is eager to please. He doesn’t have a ton of experience (though he supposes some is better than none), so he takes his cues from Wooyoung’s reactions. Wooyoung is thankfully—blessedly—very vocal. He tells San precisely when something feels good, when he is ready for more, and when he is ready for San to fuck him. San has never been with anyone so talkative in bed and he finds himself thriving on it.

When he finally slides the condom on, he’s no longer a half-second from coming, but he’s still obscenely worked up. When Wooyoung tells him to hold on so he can flip over and presents his ass like he knows just how fucking spectacular it is, San bites his bottom lip so hard it almost bleeds. Wooyoung might find San’s strength to be a novelty, but the true irony is in just how  _ weak  _ Wooyoung makes him feel… like he’s powerless in his presence.

San grabs the lube again and slicks up his cock before finally sliding home. Wooyoung is tight but takes him greedily, moaning into the fold of his own arms where he’s resting his head while he adjusts. San thinks it might be more for his benefit than Wooyoung’s own, because before he’s even managed to catch his breath, Wooyoung is pushing up onto his hands and rocking back against him eagerly.

San just grabs his hips and tries desperately to maintain some level of sanity.

Wooyoung eventually relents in his movements as San ramps up his pace, allowing him to set their rhythm. He lets out little punched-out moans on every hard snap of San’s hips, his hands eventually finding the mirror for leverage. His eyes find the mirror, too, and though he seems to shy away from looking at his  _ own  _ reflection, he isn’t shy about meeting San’s eyes in the mirror. His gaze rakes over every bit of him, from the flex of his arms to the grip of his fingers to the clench of his abdomen. His expression goes a little hazy and San smirks.

“You like that? Like being able to watch the way I fuck you?” San makes sure Wooyoung’s gaze is on the mirror when he kicks his hips hard, hard enough that the other’s eyes flutter and roll back for a second.

“God— _ fuck _ that’s hot.” Wooyoung hisses, the glass squeaking under his fingertips as he flexes them, using the leverage to push back against San’s every thrust once more.

San is the one whose eyes roll back, then, as he does his best to match Wooyoung’s rhythm. He isn’t going to last much longer at this rate… not if Wooyoung is going to keep doing  _ that.  _ San lets one of his hands trail up over Wooyoung’s spine to gently rest at the nape of his neck. It’s meant to be grounding, but Wooyoung just  _ melts,  _ letting out an inhuman noise and throwing his head back in a way that exposes the long, gorgeous column of his throat. San’s mouth goes dry.

“Nngh… ah, fuck, Wooyoung, I’m gonna come—” San grunts, fingers digging into the flesh at Wooyoung’s neck and hip. He desperately wants to hold on, wants Wooyoung to come first, but he’s strung tight, too worked up from everything, and all of it’s been too much.

Part of him expects Wooyoung to beg him to keep going, because he surely  _ must  _ be close himself, given the pitch his mewls and cries have risen to, but he doesn’t. He just pants out his agreeances, telling him,  _ begging him,  _ to come.

San is too weak a man to do anything save exactly that. He holds Wooyoung’s hips flush against his own as he fills the condom, still grinding into him in languid strokes. It seems to be just what Wooyoung needs, too, judging by the shuddery moan he lets out before he starts begging San to touch him.

San releases his neck and scrambles to get his hand around Wooyoung’s cock, still moving his hips—but as soon as he touches him, Wooyoung wails and grinds his ass back against him desperately. It’s scant seconds before Wooyoung is panting out garbled nonsense as he comes, making an absolute mess of the mat.

That, however, is the least of San’s concerns. His concentration is fully on the way Wooyoung shivers, the way the muscles of his back clench up, the way his moans go up by several octaves before becoming nothing but breathy near-sounds as he falls apart.

Wooyoung is fucking  _ beautiful.  _

He whines when it becomes too much, squirming away from San’s touch. San releases him to run his palms over Wooyoung’s thighs, across the curve of his ass, down along his low back and his waist. He soothes him, shushing him softly until Wooyoung comes down, until he stops shaking. Only then does San pull out, laughing softly when Wooyoung all but collapses to the mat and stares up at him with the most fucked-out, satisfied expression, resting his cheek on his forearms as though he has no intention of moving anytime soon.

“Comfortable?” San teases, petting over his flank again.

Wooyoung hums. “Hm, just… gimme a minute. Or maybe a century.”

San laughs, shaking his head. “Well, if you think you can salvage the energy, you’re welcome to the locker room shower while I clean all this up.”

“Mm, such a gentleman.” Wooyoung drawls, finally dragging himself up to press a languid, filthy kiss to San’s mouth. “Think I’ll take you up on that, thanks.”

He collects his duffle, pulling on his boxers before tossing his pants, the lube and extra condoms into the bag while San disposes of the condom and pulls his pants back on. Wooyoung slings his duffle over his shoulder as he stands, making a concerted effort to not let San see how he wobbles a bit getting to his feet (though San  _ does  _ notice, and internally preens in front of the supply closet as he snaps up the disinfectant spray and some paper towels).

“Hey San.” Wooyoung calls back to him after a moment. San glances over with a curious eyebrow raised. “When you’re done with all that… feel free to join me.”

He winks and sways his hips just so as he turns to go, and really, San is lucky so much of his daily routine involves cardio, or else Wooyoung might just give him a heart attack.

He still takes him up on it, though. After all, he’s no fool.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not want to split this but adding another chapter allowed me to expound on the relationship a bit more than was initially planned. Plus it’ll tie in better with the eventual sequel~ You may have noticed I added this to a series… there -is- a sequel planned! But it might be a ways off given my current workload.

San is on cloud nine.

He doesn’t think he’s ever felt so passionately about someone… or anything, really, in a  _ long  _ time. Wooyoung just has this effect on him. Whenever he’s around, San feels lighter, stronger. Like he could move mountains if only Wooyoung asked.

It’s almost enough to let him forget that the way they met… well, it wasn’t exactly ideal. And while San thinks it will make a rather compelling and somewhat romantic story for when people inevitably ask them how they met… he can’t help but think that Wooyoung’s interest will fade. San isn’t actually all that compelling of a person—Wooyoung may have been swept up in the adrenaline of that first night, of this idea of San as some kind of hero. But that isn’t him. San is just… perfectly ordinary. He can’t imagine he’ll be interesting for very long, not to someone like  _ Wooyoung,  _ who’s so incredibly talented and surrounded by such great friends.

San tries to swallow the bitter thoughts down with his coffee as he prepares to start his day. He can’t let this kind of negativity bleed into his teaching. It isn’t fair on his students.

At least it’s Friday. He only has to make it through one more day before he gets a weekend reprieve to collect his thoughts… and maybe plan something with Wooyoung.

San checks his texts between classes, and by his second class of the day, Wooyoung has messaged him. The Ateez Dance Crew are allegedly going to attempt to beat the rain that’s forecasted for the evening by starting a little earlier than usual. San regretfully declines attending since his classes will run until at least eight, and it’s sparring night. That means he—and his students—will be decked out in their padded gear and San is going to feel disgusting by the end of it. Plus, he’ll be covered in awkward red marks from the helmet and gloves especially. Not his best look.

When Wooyoung asks if he can at least call him after both his classes and busking are done, San happily agrees. 

It’s only a little after nine when he gets the call notification. He’s already home and showered, having eaten a microwaveable meal for dinner. He isn’t the worst at cooking, but he’s always too damn tired, and it seems like so much effort for just himself.

San is a little flustered when he sees the call is actually a video call request, quickly brushing his damp hair back before hitting ‘Accept’.

Wooyoung’s image flares to life on the screen. He still has his heavy performance makeup on, his eyes sultry and smoked-out, but his hair is damp.

“You get rained on?”

“A little bit. You?” Wooyoung asks, noticing San’s wet hair.

“Nah, just showered.” San explains. “I gotta admit, wasn’t expecting a video chat. Sorry I’m kind of a mess.”

“Post-shower after a long day of kicking ass is not what I’d call a mess. It’s a good look for you.” Wooyoung teases. “Besides, I wanted to see your face.”

“No complaints here since I get to see yours.” San replies, winking at him. “So, how was busking?”

Wooyoung regales the highlights of the night, but it isn’t much thanks to the crappy weather. He laments that so many of his fans are now asking for San—not by name, of course… just ‘where’s your handsome bodyguard, Wooyoung-ssi? Are you dating? Does he dance?’’—and San can’t help but laugh.

He wants to make it out to more of Wooyoung’s performances, but he really can’t until he hires someone to take over the bookkeeping at the studio. It’s hard to conduct interviews when he’s so busy. Their free time doesn’t seem to coincide very much, but Wooyoung invites him to stop by the coffee shop near the end of his shift so they can eat together before heading to Hongdae. Yeosang is apparently planning to stop by as well before heading out of town for the rest of the weekend.

They talk for hours… it’s really incredible how quickly time seems to fly when San is spending it with Wooyoung. They never seem to have any trouble figuring out what to talk about. It just comes naturally.

When Wooyoung yawns, though, San realizes just how late it’s gotten.

“Sounds like you could use some sleep. You have an early shift tomorrow, don’t you?”

Wooyoung hums noncommittally. “Yeah but I like talking to you.”

“I like talking to you, too, but I don’t want you to be a zombie for your shift. You could burn yourself. Or get some cranky middle-aged woman’s order wrong and make her cause a scene.”

Wooyoung laughs at that. It’s the higher pitched one that makes San smile instantly. It’s quickly become one of his favorite sounds.

“Don’t care. Worth it.”

“Wooyoung…” San chides.

“Okay, how about… I’ll turn off the light, and you can just talk to me ‘til I fall asleep?” Wooyoung bargains.

San makes a face, but he’s too cute to resist. “All right. But I’m gonna put on my best ASMR voice. You’ll be out in no time.”

That earns him another sweet giggle as Wooyoung leans over and flicks off his lamp. San can just barely see him after that, illuminated only by his screen, which is only moderately bright since San hasn’t turned off his own lights yet.

He whisper-talks for a little while longer, and Wooyoung tries to play along for a bit, but it’s clear that whispering doesn’t come easily to him. When a loud crash of thunder rolls across the sky, he lets out a small squeak and smushes his face into his pillows.

“You don’t like storms, do you?” San asks softly.

Wooyoung opens his mouth like he’s going to vehemently deny it, but he stops himself, nodding quietly. “Y-yeah, um. Since I was a kid.”

“It’s not such a strange thing to be scared of.” San tells him.

“I guess. I just… I don’t usually tell people. It took me a long time to tell even my best friends.” Wooyoung admits. “I don’t know if it’s because it’s embarrassing or if I’m afraid they’ll tease me with it… maybe both.”

“Thank you for trusting me with that.” San says earnestly. “I promise I won’t ever tease you about it.”

“Thanks.” Wooyoung murmurs, falling quiet for a long moment. He seems to struggle to find the words for what he wants to say, so it’s a while before he speaks again. “I’m… really glad I met you.”

“I’m glad I met you, too.” San replies easily.

Wooyoung sighs. “It’s just… it’s been a long time since I’ve met someone I feel like I can really trust, like I trust my dance crew, and like I trust Yeosang. You know?”

“Right.” San responds, nodding. “It’s a… tight circle.”

“But I do. I trust you. You feel… safe. And not just because you can fight, I mean… emotionally safe, too.” Wooyoung smiles somewhat bashfully. “Sorry, I’m not making any sense, am I?”

“No, no, it makes perfect sense. I—” San swallows down the tightness in his throat. “I want to be that for you. It makes me happy.” 

Wooyoung’s face brightens at that. They talk for only a few more minutes, San noticing that as long as he has Wooyoung distracted, he doesn’t seem to react too negatively to the thunderstorm. He keeps speaking in a sweet, soothing tone until Wooyoung nods off, and he whispers a ‘good night’ before he disconnects the call.

San falls asleep to the sounds of thunder, wishing he could be there to make Wooyoung feel safe.

***

The café where Wooyoung works is small; a hole-in-the-wall coffee shop that offers a limited assortment of pastries in the morning hours and desserts starting at noon. Wooyoung looks cute in his little apron and coyly pretends not to know who San is when he comes in, hiding a smile as he takes his order.

As he rings him up, he asks San, “Is there anything else I could get for you, sir?” and San can’t help but quip back at him, playing along.

“How about your phone number?”

Wooyoung laughs in that way of his, holding it in but making a face like he’s just eaten something incredibly sour, his cheekbones standing out prominently.

“Is this guy bothering you?” Asks a voice from behind him, and San turns to see Yeosang doing his best to keep a stern, serious face.

“Not at all.” Wooyoung lilts, beaming.

“What’re you having?” San asks, unsubtly holding up his own wallet.

“Wooyoung knows my usual.” Yeosang says dismissively, tossing his chin toward him. “You tryin’ to be my sugar daddy or something?”

San laughs, handing Wooyoung his card. “Put his on mine, too.” He turns back to Yeosang. “Mm, not really my kink, personally? I accept repayment in smiles, or brownie points, if it helps me get into your good graces.”

_ “Smiles,  _ he says.” Yeosang drawls sardonically, rolling his eyes. “I can’t tell if you’re smooth or just really precious.”

“Oh, I am not smooth. I’m a human disaster. I just look put together. Thanks, gorgeous.” San blows Wooyoung a kiss as he takes back his card. “See you in a bit.”

Wooyoung makes a kind of weird, throaty noise and covers his mouth, but he can’t hide his eye-smile, and San melts into a sentimental puddle of goo as he follows Yeosang to “their table”, which is the booth in the corner by the window with a somewhat overgrown plant hanging on the wall next to it.

“So, we meet again.” San says as they sit down, lacing his fingers on the table and sitting up straight. He’s going for mock-serious, but Yeosang responds with no humor.

“You’ve stuck around.” He replies dryly.

San’s facade falters a bit. “Um. Yes? Was I not supposed to?”

Yeosang regards him for a moment. “Wooyoung tells me he told you about assholes one through four.”

“Oh, right. The guys who ditched him for you?” San guesses.

“They  _ tried.  _ No dick is worth my friendship with Wooyoung.” Yeosang corrects.

“I’m not surprised to hear that.” San admits. “Wooyoung obviously adores you, and values you as a friend. He trusts you for a reason.”

“He seems to trust you, too.” Yeosang says flatly.

San nods. “He does. I hope it’s not  _ just  _ because I didn’t immediately drop him to pursue you. Kind of a low bar. Wooyoung deserves a  _ lot  _ more than that.”

“You’re right, he does.” Yeosang replies matter-of-factly. “I’d like to think there’s a little more to it than that, but it does help. You know, the not being interested in me.”

“Au contraire. I am very interested in you.” San counters. “You’re arguably Wooyoung’s Most Important Person. I have every intention of getting to know you.”

“You seem to know all the right things to say.” Yeosang says accusingly, narrowing his eyes a bit.

“Oh, this confidence is one-hundred percent faked. Promise.” San admits. “You know, I tell my students before they present their forms at belt testing, or right before a demo stage… I tell them that the only way to gain real confidence is to first fake confidence. I haven’t gotten to the point of having real confidence, yet, but I’m good at following my own advice.”

“You’re awfully honest.” Yeosang murmurs.

“I am scared shitless of you.” San tells him, blinking somewhat manically. “You’re obviously really important to each other, and I’m terrified to fuck this up.”

“Good, you should be.” Yeosang replies plainly. “You might be a Bruce Lee wannabe with your fists of fury and your fancy kicks, but let it be known that if you hurt Wooyoung, they’ll never identify your body after I’m done with you.”

San chokes, clearing his throat so he can breathe. “Uh. Right. Yeah, no! I would never.”

“Good. As long as we understand each other.” Yeosang smiles at him  _ too  _ sweetly, and it’s more than a little scary, especially when Wooyoung joins them and he greets him as though he hadn’t just threatened San’s life.

Wooyoung slides into the booth next to San, setting their drinks down. He’s sans apron and name tag, now, and he smells faintly of coffee grinds. It’s a little bit heavenly, and San can’t help but press a kiss to his hair when Wooyoung leans into his shoulder.

“Ugh! I’m so glad my shift is done.” He gripes, grabbing his matcha frappe and taking a long pull through the straw.

Yeosang lets his sweater cover his hands as he picks up his fruity frappe and San really can’t believe this is a man who threatened him just seconds before. “You should really be trying to get a nap in before your set tonight. I know you hardly slept.”

Wooyoung turns pink, sputtering and swatting at him while San takes a drink of his mocha frappe in an attempt to not look guilty. “Quit spying on me, you creep.”

“I wasn’t spying, I just noticed you fell asleep weirdly starfished across your bed with your phone in your hand when I checked on you this morning.” Yeosang counters. “You’re welcome for putting it on the charger, by the way.”

Wooyoung puffs out his cheeks and mumbles a “Thanks” into the top of his matcha frappe.

“In my defense, I tried to get him to go to sleep sooner but he demanded I stay on the phone until he nodded off.” San says. “I was coerced.”

“Under threat of harm, I’m sure.” Yeosang comments wryly.

“Nah, I just can’t say no to him.” San replies, petting Wooyoung’s hair.

Yeosang rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Cute. I’ll still murder you if you hurt him.”

San chokes, and Wooyoung sputters, letting out something between a gasp and a laugh.  _ “Yeosang!” _

“What? You wanted ride or die; this is what you get.” Yeosang tells him matter-of-factly as he sips on his drink. After a moment, he sighs in satisfaction and stands. “All right, I’m heading out, but if he gives you any trouble, Youngie-ah… call me.”

San gawps in protest. “I won’t—”

“Don’t worry, I remember where you keep the cyanide.” Wooyoung quips back, and Yeosang laughs as he waves and heads out the door. When Wooyoung turns back to San, he finds him gawking in offense, a hand to his heart.

“Et tu, Brute?” San intones dramatically, trying to sound betrayed.

Wooyoung just giggles and shrugs. “Relax, it’s only to keep him from worrying..”

“Sure…” San drawls.

“You know, that reminds me, actually. I was looking up Latin phrases the other day and there was this one I really liked. It reminded me of you. Us, I guess.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Amicus usque ad aras. It means, like,  _ friends to the end.”  _

“That’s cool… what had you suddenly wanting to learn badass Latin phrases?” San asks.

Wooyoung’s cheeks go pink and he clears his throat. “Oh, uh, you know, just… been considering getting a tattoo for a while, and I was thinking something like that. Not that specifically, but like… Latin script.”

San grins knowingly. “For a while, huh?”

“Well yeah, but uh, I don’t know. None of my friends have tattoos so I chickened out.” Wooyoung admits.

“Ah, and I have them, so you figure I won’t try to talk you out of it?” San teases.

“Maybe.” Wooyoung replies with a secret smile.

“So, what’s that phrase mean again? Amicus ad aras?” San asks.

“Um, well the literal translation is ‘friends until the altar’.”

San raises an eyebrow. “What, like marriage?”

Wooyoung laughs, and his face is so  _ bright.  _ “No, no. It’s like saying our only higher loyalty is to religion, so… friends to the end no matter what.”

San nods, considering. Wooyoung’s face falls a little.

“It’s not weird, is it? I’m not gonna get that tattooed, it was just something I saw when I was looking, and I thought of you, I guess?”

“No, not at all. It’s… it’s really cool.” San assures, offering a tight grin.

He doesn’t know how to tell Wooyoung that he’s an atheist. For him, there isn’t any higher calling than this. There isn’t any deity he feels deserves more worship than Wooyoung’s smile or his laugh or the way his face scrunches up in that cute way of his. San would follow Wooyoung to the altar, and beyond.

That seems a little too intense to say, so he doesn’t. 

***

Saturday has finally brought them beautiful weather, so the boys of the Ateez Dance Crew have planned an “electric” performance for that evening. They intend to break out their best sets, some new choreo and a lot of audience play. Wooyoung invites San along and he’s more than happy to accept.

San is greeted teasingly as the “bodyguard” once more by Seonghwa, but he doesn’t mind. They all smile warmly at him—well, all except Jongho—who is a little ways off doing scales and sounding like he eats CDs for breakfast or something. His range and stability is obscene, and San can’t imagine how he doesn’t have an idol company representing him yet. He helps the guys set up their coolers and speakers and chairs with their little banner advertising who they are. Wooyoung abandons them in favor of stretching, sliding into split positions that make his ass look tantalizing.

Jongho catches him staring when he heads over to grab some water. San wouldn’t say the guy is  _ glaring,  _ per se, but he fixes San with an intense stare before smirking and stopping behind Wooyoung to slap the dancer’s thigh repeatedly.

He only pulls his eyes away when Wooyoung squeals in complaint, grinning at him coyly. “Been doing those workouts I recommended?”

“Nah, I’m as lazy as ever.” Wooyoung coos, scrunching his face up. “I just don’t have the time, between all this and work. Dancing just has to be my workout.”

“One of these days I’ll get you to go to the gym with me.” Jongho replies, rubbing at the back of Wooyoung’s thigh and squeezing it once before letting go. When he looks up, he catches San’s gaze. “You can bring your bodyguard along, and we can see just how strong he is.”

It is, distinctly, a challenge. San is pretty sure this man would eat him alive at weightlifting, given his physique. He swallows, feeling mildly threatened.

But Wooyoung just giggles, utterly amused. “Sure, Jongie. You just wanna show off.”

Jongho shrugs, raising an eyebrow at San as he passes him to grab his water. San smiles uneasily, trying to laugh it off.

San was excited, at first, but now he’s just nervous. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to act around Wooyoung, let alone around Wooyoung when he’s with his  _ friends,  _ and around fans, for that matter _ . _ They seem to thrive on skinship, but how far is too far? They haven’t talked about any of this stuff.

San feels like he gets something of an answer when Wooyoung finishes up his stretching and pulls him into a hug. That seems safe. He hugs him back and does not miss the way Wooyoung’s friends eye him with knowing looks, smirking and grinning openly in their direction.

He isn’t asked to volunteer, but he’s allowed to stay close, right in one of the front corners for a perfect view. The guys cover some classics with amazing precision, Seonghwa shows off his proficiency at covering Chungha songs, Hongjoong does a frankly impressive medley of Western hits from Eminem to Michael Jackson, and Wooyoung does a completely sinful cover of Jimin’s  _ Filter.  _ There’s no official choreography but he’s made it his own, and  _ god,  _ San is mesmerized by his talent.

The guys are all glistening with sweat by 10 p.m., drinking in the praise of the fans. Mingi drops himself over by the bags to grab another water bottle when he sees Wooyoung’s phone light up in the mesh pocket of his duffel, announcing he has fifteen missed calls.

“Holy shit, Youngie-ah, someone’s blowing up your phone. You’ve got like five voicemails too.”

“Jongho and I are almost done, check it for me?” Wooyoung tells him before returning to being the center of everyone’s attention.

After a while, San thinks he hears Mingi curse, trying to get Wooyoung’s attention again. There are so many people around that it’s hard to hear. He can see that Mingi looks distressed, though, his face having gone white as a sheet as he holds the phone to his ear. He brings it down for only a second, appearing to make a call.

Wooyoung goes over, and they talk in hushed tones for a moment before his eyes start darting around the crowd. When his gaze meets San’s, he looks  _ terrified. _

San immediately breaks into their little dance area, crossing it to get to the two of them. “What is it, what’s wrong?”

“It’s him, it’s that guy, he—” Wooyoung’s voice is high and strung-out and shaking. He can’t even finish his sentence.

“That guy, the creepy stalker. The arresting officer called and said he escaped from their custody when they were transferring him from the hospital to the detention center.” Mingi explains.

San feels his blood turn to ice. “How long ago? Did you call them and tell them where we are right now?”

“Yeah, they said they’ll send someone right away, but you know how the traffic is in Hongdae this time of night.” Mingi tells him. “It’s been hours… he’s been calling for a while. The guy could be anywhere.”

Wooyoung makes a distressed noise, clutching at both of their sleeves.

“We need to get him out of here.” Mingi says to San, giving him a pointed look.

San sets his jaw, thinking. “Moving through the crowd is too dangerous. I don’t like it any more than he does but we should stay here until the police arrive… the crowd might conceal the stalker but it’s also a buffer. He has to break through the line of people to get to Wooyoung.”

Mingi nods. “I guess you’re right… we just need to keep an eye out for now.”

Wooyoung tugs at both of their sleeves, hard. “What? N-no! I wanna… I wanna get out of here, he knows I’m… he knows where I perform, he’s gonna come after me, and—”

“Listen. Listen to me, Wooyoung. I’m right here. I’ll keep you safe.” San promises, pulling him into a hug and pressing a kiss to his forehead. He hears a few coos from the audience, sees their phones angled their way, and he wonders if they don’t notice how terrified Wooyoung looks or if they just don’t care.

Yunho finishes his dance and switches out with Mingi, and the crowd whoops. Yunho sees the look on Wooyoung’s face when he goes to grab his water, and he just  _ knows _ something is wrong. San looks at Yunho and nods as he pulls back a little, brushing lavender fringe out of Wooyoung’s face. He wants to say something else, but he doesn’t know how else to reassure him.

Before anything comes to mind, there’s a commotion nearby. To their right, someone shoves through the crowd and breaks the line of the front row, knocking people aside.

It’s him, it’s the stalker, and he looks positively manic.

Wooyoung lets out a shriek, recoiling reflexively. San doesn’t even think, just shoves Wooyoung into Yunho’s arms—thankfully, the sound had drawn his attention, and he catches him in a bracing hug—before he moves. San spots a knife in the guy’s hand… it’s small, some kind of flat, dinky self-defense blade he probably lifted off a nearby vendor. Not the scariest thing he’s ever seen, but a deep jab could still do serious damage.

He comes barreling toward San like a possessed man. He’s clearly lost it, rage doing most of his thinking by now. The guy swipes erratically with the knife, San weaving a bit to dodge him. But someone knocks into him from behind and forces him to stop long enough for the knife to barely manage to gouge into his skin, slicing shallowly from his shoulder down into his bicep.

San’s focus has narrowed down to just the assailant, just on the space around him and the knife glinting in his hand… which is why he hasn’t noticed the pandemonium around him as people realize what’s happening and begin shoving and screaming and scrambling. Then there are those who just back up with their phones still in front of their faces, recording. The screams become a little more shrill, now, fading back into focus. The world is a cacophony of noise and chaos and the sharp sting where the blade had bitten into his skin. 

Crimson rivers snake down his arm, and he thinks he can hear Wooyoung calling out to him, worried. But San can’t look away, can’t allow himself to be distracted.

The stalker lunges again, swiping with the blade. San weaves out of the way of two strikes but allows the third to come close, using the opportunity to strike at the guy’s wrist. He yelps and drops the knife, the metal clattering to the ground and likely ending up trampled on in the chaos.

The area around them starts clearing out, just Wooyoung—still wrapped up safely in Yunho’s arms—and the rest of his dance troupe remaining close by.

More importantly, his assailant is now unarmed.

The guy swings at him but San is hopped up on adrenaline… it almost feels like he’s moving in slow motion. San dodges the fist before grabbing the guy’s wrist in a vice-grip, pulling him in against a strong blow to his abdomen and another strike to the side of his neck. His attacker is massive, though, and just as high on adrenaline as him. It hardly seems to faze him.

He keeps his grip on the guy’s wrist and ducks under his arm, twisting it and dragging it behind him to pin it against his own back. He howls at the pain from the angle it puts his shoulder and elbow in, and San uses his free hand to take hold of the back of the guy’s neck.

He continues to struggle, stomping around and trying to get a hit in. San kicks in the back of his leg, dropping him to a knee, and slams the guy’s head  _ hard  _ into the utility pole that’s right in front of them.

The attacker slumps, and when San lets him go, he drops to the ground unconscious.

San takes a few ragged breaths as all his senses come surging back at once. The first thing he notices is the sharp pain in his arm, but the very next would be the distressed noise Wooyoung makes to his left.

“Oh my god San he  _ stabbed  _ you! You’re bleeding!” Wooyoung shrieks, breaking free of Yunho’s arms to run to him.

San waves him off, trying to keep him from trying to touch or hug him so Wooyoung doesn’t get blood all over his clothes. It’s snaking in tiny rivers down his arm, dripping slowly onto the pavement. “I’m fine, it’s minor. Are you okay?”

“Am  _ I _ okay? He didn’t—he didn’t even touch me, San!” Wooyoung counters, voice going to such a high octave that it cracks. “Here, let me… Mingi, hand me that water bottle—”

Despite San’s protests, Wooyoung fusses over him until the police arrive with the paramedics. He gets most of the blood washed off with the collection of water bottles they have in the practice area, and once they do arrive, San only accepts some disinfectant and gauze taped onto it, refusing to go to a hospital. He doesn’t need stitches, the paramedic assuring that the butterfly bandages should be sufficient.

Wooyoung shakes in his arms while they give their statements to police. There’s plenty of video evidence, too, so they’re all allowed to leave once the scene is investigated. Despite that the others were told they could leave a good half-hour before San and Wooyoung, they stuck around until the two of them were done as well.

“You didn’t need to wait for me.” Wooyoung mumbles, staring at the ground as he joins them all on the sidewalk just outside the police tape.

“Of course we did.” Seonghwa chides softly, reaching over to pet his hair.

“I’m so sorry I dragged all of you into this, it’s all my fault—”

“Wooyoung, no! You were stalked! It could have been any of us! How is that in any way your fault?” Seonghwa hisses.

“Don’t talk like that.” Yunho adds.

“I’m actually… glad, that we were here this time.” Jongho says quietly. “In the case that San wasn’t here, we would be able to protect you.”

“But we’re lucky that he  _ was _ here.” Hongjoong pipes up.

Mingi nods. “Thank you for protecting our Wooyoungie. Is your arm gonna be okay?”

“This?” San asks, gesturing with the bandaged arm. “Yeah, it’s nothing. I’ll be healed up in no time.”

One of the police officers eventually comes over and ushers them out of the area, encouraging them to return home. All of them seem particularly uneasy about the idea, but agree it’s probably for the best. Yunho, Mingi and Jongho all live together, and Seonghwa and Hongjoong also share an apartment, so none of them will have to be alone. Their concern is mostly for Wooyoung, especially with how tightly he clings to San. He hasn’t let him go since the fight.

“Yeosang’s out of town this weekend and I don’t think he should be alone.” Seonghwa says, looking pointedly at San.

Wooyoung nods, tucking his head against San’s uninjured side. “I don’t  _ wanna  _ be alone.”

San inclines his head, and his expression is sympathetic. “Okay… do you want me to go home with you? Or do you want to come stay at my place? I have a whole wall dedicated to various martial arts weapons, so… it’s pretty safe.”

“Your place.” Wooyoung mumbles, face still pressed against San.

“Okay. Why don’t you grab your phone and text the address to your friends, so they’ll know where you are? Do you wanna grab anything on the way there?” San asks, hauling Wooyoung’s duffel over his bad shoulder because he’s not going to let him carry anything, but he’s also already latched to San’s good arm.

Wooyoung nods at the initial suggestion, grabbing his phone. At the last bit, though, he shakes his head. “Don’t want anything. Let’s just… go home.”

“All right.” San presses a kiss to Wooyoung’s temple because it feels safe enough, and the others wave as they part ways on the street on their way to different train platforms.

***

San wouldn’t describe himself as an interior decorator of any sort. Most of the decor in his house is related to his dad’s career—or his own—as a martial artist. There’s an ego wall with most of their medals and trophies (his dad had taken a few to display at his new place at the retirement community), certificates of their rank and photos with respected masters. As promised, there’s an entire wall dedicated to weapons San has studied. From the simple bo staff and nunchucks to the more flashy kama and sai. There are eskrima sticks and swords as well, along with a pair of tonfa and tiger hooks from when he dabbled in some other martial arts styles.

“Wow, you uh, weren’t kidding about the weapons.” Wooyoung murmurs in awe, padding over to the wall to admire everything after slipping off his shoes.

“There used to be more, but dad took a few when he got his new place.”

“You really live here all alone?”

“Yeah. Dad was too proud to sell it. Insists I keep it for myself for when I want a family. I thought about renting one or two of the rooms, but I feel like I’d make a terrible roommate.”

“It’s a three-bedroom?”

“Yeah. I grew up here with my sister and my parents. My sister lives in the U.K. now, she works in the fashion industry. Our mom passed away when I was young, and dad raised us here. But a few years back, he moved out to a retirement facility.” San explains. “He’s… got a pretty bad injury that needs a lot of physical therapy, and he has to have help around the house. He refuses to be a burden on me, and my sister makes really good money, so they set him up out there.”

“Sounds like it’s not… ideal, for you?”

“I would’ve been happy to take care of him.” San admits. “But… he was just so proud. And… scared, I think. Scared that I’d waste my life away taking care of him, that I wouldn’t let myself have a life outside of him and the studio.”

“Sounds like you don’t anyway.” Wooyoung says softly. “I mean, that you didn’t. Before you met me.”

“Maybe I was punishing myself.” San mumbles, staring at a picture of him and his dad after San’s first tournament. “Maybe I didn’t feel like I deserved it.”

“You’re really lucky to have a dad who loves you so much.” Wooyoung whispers, taking San’s hand. “You should live happily with the blessings he’s given you.”

San sighs, finally pulling his eyes away. “Yeah. Maybe you’re right.”

“Of course I am.” Wooyoung says with a coy grin, nudging him a little. “So, why don’t you show me the rest of the house?”

“All right.” San agrees with a small laugh, detouring to lead him through the kitchen before taking him past the living room to the main hall. “The extra bedrooms have just been kind of barren since I took over the master.”

“I really only care about  _ your  _ bedroom.” Wooyoung tells him, tone low but direct.

San chokes. “Ah—uh, right. Yeah. Were you, um. Did you… want to… sleep with me, tonight? Just sleep, we don’t have to—”

“San, calm down.” Wooyoung soothes, chuckling softly. “I’d feel safer with you, yes. If that’s okay.”

“Yeah, of course, it’s fine. Here, this is me.” San says, showing him the room at the end of the hall. It’s big—too big, for one person—but he’s managed not to cram too much into it. He has a chest of drawers, two nightstands and a chin-up bar in the corner. His bed is huge, and he had sprung for a comfortable mattress, because nothing was worse than training until you ached all over and having to sleep on some dingy, lumpy old box spring or something.

His closet doors are open, but he keeps hardly anything in there. His one suit for special occasions, his demo dobok (freshly dry-cleaned after last week’s performance) and his half-dozen pairs of non-casual shoes. Wooyoung sees it and balks.

“Your closet is the  _ dream  _ and you aren’t even  _ using  _ it!” He wails, letting go of San to go get a better look at it. “Oh my god, I’m so jealous. This is almost as big as my room in the place I share with Yeosang. What the hell?”

San huffs in embarrassment. “Sorry, I’m not really like a… fashionable person. I’m usually in my dobok or sweats, you know? This is all probably wasted on me.”

“No shit.” Wooyoung mumbles, shaking his head. “What a shame.”

San gives a valiant effort of swallowing his own tongue before he suggests something very stupid and wildly inappropriate.

“I don’t know how you make a family home look like a bachelor pad, but you do.” Wooyoung adds with a laugh, moving on to have a look at his bathroom. He regards the myriad of skincare products lined up on the counter, but positively  _ whines  _ when he sees the garden tub. “Man, even my parents’ house wasn’t  _ this  _ nice.”

“Sorry?” San tries, lighthearted. “You can come over as often as you want, if you like it so much. Gets kind of lonely, honestly.”

“Mm, I might take you up on that.” Wooyoung says, circling back into the bedroom. “I lived with my parents and baby brother, and then my best friend. I don’t think I know how to live alone. I’d at least need a dog or something.”

“I considered getting a cat but I’m gone all day so I felt bad about it.” San replies.

“Just about everyone who has pets is gone all day. And cats especially are pretty independent.” Wooyoung tells him. “You know, I’m a little surprised you’re a cat person. Friendly and protective is kind of a dog’s m.o.”

San laughs, shrugging. “I don’t know, nothing beats a loving cat cuddling up with you.”

“Nothing, huh?” Wooyoung quips back, and with the way he’s raised one eyebrow, it distinctly feels like a challenge. San’s suspicions are confirmed when Wooyoung closes the distance between them and slides his fingers into the belt loops of San’s jeans, pulling him closer. “Nothing at all?”

San pins him with a look. “If you start  _ meowing,  _ I swear—”

Wooyoung laughs, one of his higher-pitched giggles that makes San’s heart do somersaults. “Wasn’t gonna, but if you’re into that…”

“Not exactly.” San replies, though he thinks he could be into just about anything if it’s Wooyoung.

“Still…” Wooyoung drawls, continuing on his early thought.  _ “Nothing  _ beats a cuddly cat?”

“Upon further consideration, I can think of a few things.” San amends, grinning. He brings one hand up to cradle Wooyoung’s cheek, soothing his thumb gently over it. “Did you want to borrow my shower, or just some pajamas and skip right to the cuddling?”

Wooyoung snorts, shaking his head. “I don’t stink, do I?”

“Not at all.” San assures.

“Mmkay… don’t want a shower  _ or  _ pajamas. The cuddling’s fine, for later.” Wooyoung murmurs, his fingers skirting along the front of San’s belt before he starts to undo it.

San sputters a little, eyes going wider. “Wooyoung… are you… I mean, you’ve been through a lot tonight, are you sure?”

Wooyoung seems to hesitate, then, faltering. “O-oh… I mean, if you didn’t want to…”

“Wooyoung—”

But the other just hisses, shaking his head. “I’m so stupid, you hurt your arm and I’m  _ throwing  _ myself at you… I didn’t mean to be so selfish, I’m sorry, I—”

“Wooyoung, stop.” San says gently, resting both his hands on Wooyoung’s upper arms. “I’m fine, okay? So don’t worry about me. I’m just making sure everything’s all right with you.”

Wooyoung makes a small, pained noise, pouting. “God, I feel like such a disgusting, stupid  _ slut  _ because all I want right now is for you to  _ touch me.” _

“That’s not stupid or disgusting. You’re probably dealing with a huge adrenaline crash, and you just escaped a really scary situation.” San reasons. “Whatever you need right now, I’ll give it to you. I just wanted to be sure. Okay?”

“Okay.” Wooyoung mumbles, grabbing for San’s belt again. “I really do want you to touch me. I’m more than sure.”

San nods, pulling him into a kiss as he walks them both backwards toward the bed.

It’s not that San doesn’t trust Wooyoung. He’s an adult, after all… capable of making his own decisions. It isn’t his place to tell Wooyoung how he’s allowed to cope, or heal, or move past their absolute disaster of an evening. San himself… he’s not affected the way Wooyoung had been. San’s only concern had been keeping Wooyoung and his friends safe. He did that. He will not spare that obsessive asshole a second thought past Wooyoung’s own mentioning of him from this moment forward. He just wants Wooyoung to be all right— _ needs  _ him to be all right.

Because Wooyoung doesn’t deserve any of this. Wooyoung deserves to perform without fear, to dance without worrying whether he has drawn the wrong kind of attention. It isn’t fair that he has to bear that kind of concern. His passion is tainted, ruined by this awful human being, and he hates that for him.

“San, please…” Wooyoung murmurs, pulling him from his thoughts.

San is there. San will always be there, as long as Wooyoung will have him.

There isn’t any rush, this time. He does not feel the same sort of desperation to please emanating from Wooyoung that he had that first time, at the dojang. Now, Wooyoung surrenders to him, leaves himself in San’s hands, relinquishes control. San wants to give him everything.

He is attentive, but not hesitant. He asks for Wooyoung’s constant reassurance, but is not reluctant to continue to give and give when Wooyoung insists that this is what he wants. He isn’t some fragile, broken thing, but San treats him like something precious. 

San entwines his fingers with Wooyoung’s own as he rocks into him, pressing his hands into the mattress as they grasp desperately at each other, as though it can anchor them. Wooyoung whines beneath him, panting and gasping in desperate breaths, like it’s too much and yet not enough all at once.

“San—Sannie… I… I need…” Wooyoung babbles, cutting off on a sharp thrust when he has to gulp for air.

San wants for him to finish that sentence, wants to hear it for himself… but he doesn’t have to hear it to know what Wooyoung needs. San releases Wooyoung’s hand, freeing up his own to travel down the length of Wooyoung’s side. He’s still wearing his shirt, but San slides his hand up underneath it once he reaches the vee of his hip, stroking his thumb next to Wooyoung’s navel.

One day he wants to be allowed to see  _ all  _ of Wooyoung, for Wooyoung to understand just how beautiful he is, but he will respect things as they are now.

Wooyoung whines, high and needy with a desperate roll of his hips, and San obliges him, wrapping a hand around his cock.

The sound that earns him is ten times sweeter and just as desperate. Wooyoung writhes up into his touch as San sets a rhythm to match the steady roll of his own hips.

“Let go, Wooyoung. I’ve got you. You can let go.”

Wooyoung cries out around a frenzied gasp as he comes, San careful to keep him from ruining his shirt. He works him through it until he’s whimpering with over-sensitivity, then pulls out so he can tear off the condom and finish across Wooyoung’s thigh with a shuddering groan.

The two of them just breathe together for a long moment before San gathers up the energy to clean them up. He wipes away the mess before handing Wooyoung the pajamas he’d promised, letting him ditch his too-fancy shirt (and respectfully busying himself tossing the rags into his hamper while he changes). When he turns back to the bed and climbs in, he notices they seem to fit perfectly, like they were made for him.

“I think I was promised cuddles.” Wooyoung mumbles sleepily, making grabby-hands toward him.

San laughs and turns out the lights before sliding under the covers next to him and pulling him into an encompassing embrace. “I’m warning you, I’m like an octopus.”

“Kinky.” Wooyoung quips back, causing them both to laugh.

“I just mean I’m an… avid cuddler.” San clarifies. “You’ve been warned.”

“Mm, that’s okay. I think it’s nice. You make me feel safe.” Wooyoung tells him, snuggling a little closer.

“Well, good. And if it helps, in addition to late-night cuddles, I’m happy to be your bodyguard for as long as you need.” San jokes, petting the other’s hair and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

He wants to keep the mood light, wants to make Wooyoung feel safe. He knows he told Wooyoung once before that he couldn’t  _ always _ be his bodyguard, because he still has his students to look after, but now? He’s prepared to go out to Hongdae with him every night until he feels safe, if that’s what he needs.

Wooyoung buries his face against San’s neck, his mumbled words a little muffled. “Would rather you just be my boyfriend.”

San’s brain short-circuits for a brief moment, and he finds himself just sort of sputtering. “Uh… oh. Um. I—uh…”

Wooyoung stiffens in his arms, ducking his head a little lower. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t expect you to want that, to want  _ me  _ like that, it was stupid—”

“What?” San balks. “No, no, that’s not—ugh, I’m sorry, Wooyoungie… you know I’m awful at all this… social stuff.”

“I-is that still a no, then?” Wooyoung asks softly, finally looking up.

San blinks at him, confused. “Huh? No! No, I’m just saying I’m so bad at this that I didn’t even consider the fact that we haven’t even really talked about it or done anything official or… Wooyoung? Are you crying?”

Wooyoung sniffs, shaking his head with a soft whimper, but there are definitely tears in the corners of his eyes. San gathers him up in his arms, kissing over the crown of his head.

“Wooyoung, baby, no, don’t cry! I’m sorry I’m a giant idiot. I’d love to be your boyfriend!” San peppers more kisses into his hair. “Personally I think you’re way out of my league and you’re making a rash, idiotic decision because you think I saved your life or something, but I’m willing to go with it. I’ll gladly accept how much it’ll rip my heart out when you eventually realize you made a mistake and leave me… if it means I get a few weeks or a few months of trying to make you happy, then it’s worth it—”

“What?!” Wooyoung looks up at him then as though he’s flabbergasted. “San… you’re… I am  _ not  _ out of your league what the fuck? You run an entire business and have the body of a god and you’re so selfless? You donate your time to teaching underprivileged kids and you are so good with young children that it makes me ache in this warm kind of way and… yeah you saved my life but I’m choosing to think this is the universe’s way of giving me something good for once. And maybe it’s some cosmic joke or it  _ is  _ an adrenaline-fueled mistake and we’re not actually compatible at all but right now I don’t care. I want you.”

San nods, leaning in to kiss his forehead. “Okay. Okay. I… want you, too. More than anything.”

“You do?” Wooyoung asks softly, like he doesn’t really believe it.

“Of course I do.” San insists, brushing Wooyoung’s hair behind his ear. 

“You have kind of a funny way of showing it.” Wooyoung mumbles a little petulantly.

“Sorry, I’m still pretty helpless with all this.” San admits. “But I’ll get better at it. Promise.”

“I don’t know. I think you’re more slick than you let on.” Wooyoung counters.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. This how you get your kicks? Playing with the hearts of boys who desperately like you?” Wooyoung teases, still pouting.

“Only the cute ones.” San says, smiling knowingly. “So, only you.”

When Wooyoung leans in to kiss him, then, it’s different than it had been the first time.

This time, it’s  _ familiar. _

San wants to cling to that feeling for as long as he’s allowed.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on twt and CC @VermillionVamp


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